WHY 
THE  WORLD 
LAUGHS 


CHARLES  JOHNSTON 


HARPER  &  BROTHERS  PUBLISHERS 

NEW  YORK   AND   LONDON 

MCMXII 


COPYRIGHT.    1912.    BY   HARPER   &    BROTHERS 

PRINTED    IN   THE    UNITED    STATES   OF  AMERICA 

PUBLISHED    MARCH,    1912 


CONTENTS 

CHAP.  PAGE 

I.  THE  GRIMLY  HUMOR  OP  JOHN  CHINAMAN       .    .  1 

II.  A  MONGOLIAN  Music  COMEDY 13 

III.  HUMOR  IN  THE  JAPANESE  STYLE 25 

IV.  THE  HUMOR  OF  INDIA 36 

V.  THE  GENTLE  GALES  OP  PERSIAN  JESTS     ...  62 

VI.  THE  JESTS  THEY  MADE  IN  BAGDAD 78 

VII.  THE  WIT  AND  SATIRE  OP  THE  HEBREWS    ...  99 

VIII.  HUMOR  IN  THE  DAYS  OP  THE  PHARAOHS    .     .     .  113 

IX.  THE  HUMOR  OP  THE  OLD  TURKS 127 

X.  AN  OTTOMAN  LEAP-YEAR  GIRL 140 

XI.  THE  HUMOR  OF  THE  GREEKS 153 

XII.  ARISTOPHANES  AND  THE  LADIES 167 

XIII.  LUCIAN'S  AVIATION  STORY 177 

XIV.  A  SCOFFER  ON  MOUNT  OLYMPUS 189 

XV.  THE  JESTS  OF  CICERO'S  COUNTRYMEN    ....  199 

XVI.  How  Lucius  MADE  AN  Ass  OF  HIMSELF   .     .    .  212 

XVII.  BOCCACCIO  AND  His  KIN       224 

XVIII.  THE  MUSICAL  LAUGHTER  OP  ITALY 233 

XIX.  DON  QUIXOTE  AND  THE  HUMOR  OP  SPAIN  .    .    .  242 

XX.  AN  ASININE  STORY 252 

XXI.  THE  MERRY  JESTS  OP  RABELAIS 262 

XXII.  FROM  MOLIERE  TO  DAUDET 272 

XXIII.  OLD  HIGH  GERMAN  JOKES  282 


242384 


CONTENTS 

CHAP.  PAGE 

XXIV.  BARON  MUNCHAUSEN  AND  AFTER 292 

XXV.  SCANDINAVIAN  FUNNY  STORIES 303 

XXVI.  THE  RUSSIAN  AND  THE  TARTAR 313 

XXVII.  THE  CENTRAL  FIGURE  OF  ENGLISH  HUMOR     .  323 

XXVIII.  THE  PAWKY  HUMOR  OF  SCOTLAND       ....  335 

XXIX.  HUMOR  OF  THE  ANCIENT  HIBERNIANS     .    .    .  347 

XXX.  AMERICAN  HUMOR  BEFORE  COLUMBUS     .     .     .  359 

XXXI.  THE  ESSENCE  OF  AMERICAN  HUMOR   ....  370 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

"CONFOUND  YE,  WILL  YE  HAVE  ANY  FISH?"    .    .    .   Frontispiece 

THE   PHILOSOPHER  CHWANG   SAT  UP   IN   HIS  COFFIN    .  Facingp.     10 

"A  DIRE  DOOM  HANGS  OVER  THE  KING"     ....      "        60 
"WERT  THOU  NOT  PATIENT  IN  BEARING  AFFLICTIONS, 
THOU  HADST  NEVER  ENDURED  THY  NOSE  THESE 

FORTY  YEARS" "        66 

"WHAT  PASSED  BETWEEN  THE  CADI  AND  HIS  DAUGHTER, 

ALLAH  KNOWETH" "        98 

BENAIAH  PURLOINED   ONE   OF  THE  KING'S  KNIGHTS     .        "         102 

BROUGHT  UP  UNDER  WARD  AND  WATCH,  SO  THAT  HIS 

THREE  DOOMS  MIGHT  NOT  COME  NIGH  HIM    .    .      "      118 

A   POISONOUS   VIPER   STUNG   A   CAPPADOCIAN.    THE 

VIPER  DIED!       162 

"WOULD   YOU   HAVE    A   TYRANT   COME   HITHER 

STRIPPED?" "      196 

"l  SHOULD  HAVE  BEEN  LOST,  HAD  NOT  NERO,  A  DE- 
SCENDANT OF  C^JSAR,  PUT  UP  THE  CASH"  .    .    .  206 

LUCIUS    ADDRESSED    THE    ASSEMBLY    ON    HIS    OWN 

BEHALF "        214 

HE  CAN  EXPRESS  ALL  POSSIBLE   GRIEFS  AND    SORROWS        "         240 


WHY    THE  WORLD   LAUGHS 


WHY   THE    WORLD 
LAUGHS 


THE   GRIMLY  HUMOR  OF  JOHN  CHINAMAN 

ONE  of  the  funniest  stories  about  Chinamen 
is  not  really  Chinese.  It  was  told  by  a 
British  Consul  at  one  of  the  Treaty  Ports.  He 
arrested  nine  delinquent  Chinese,  intending  to 
turn  them  over  to  the  tender  mercies  of  the 
native  magistrate  next  morning.  Meanwhile  he 
gave  them  into  the  custody  of  a  native  police- 
man, telling  him  to  lock  them  up,  though  there 
was  no  gaol  at  the  consulate.  But  the  police- 
man was  equal  to  the  emergency.  He  solemnly 
saluted,  saying  "I  obey!"  and  marched  his  men 
off.  Soon  he  returned  and  announced  that  they 
were  safely  caged. 

The  Consul  was  curious  to  see  how  and  where. 
He  followed  his  policeman  to  the  yard.  There 
he  saw  the  nine  prisoners  dancing  round  the 

l 


'  WITT  :fftE' WORLD  LAUGHS 

consulate  flagstaff,  lugubriously  chanting  the 
Chinese  equivalent  of  "  Ring-  around  -a-  rosy!" 
Whenever  the  dance  showed  signs  of  flagging, 
the  policeman  stirred  them  up  with  a  long  pole. 
They  seemed  at  first  sight  to  be  holding  one  an- 
other's hands;  but  looking  closer,  the  Consul  saw 
that  they  were  handcuffed  together. 

"Well!"  said  the  Consul,  "if  they  are  chained 
in  a  ring  around  the  flagstaff,  they  can  certainly 
not  get  away !  But  why  do  you  make  them  dance?" 

"Ah!"  answered  the  Chinese  policeman,  with 
infinite  cunning,  "so  that  they  cannot  climb  up 
the  pole  and  get  away!" 

The  Consul  broke  out  into  a  loud  British  laugh, 
and  tried  to  explain  to  the  Chinaman  that  the  nine 
prisoners  could  certainly  not  all  climb  up  the  pole 
at  once;  but  the  Chinaman  had  his  idea,  and  held 
to  it.  So  the  dance  went  on. 

A  more  genuinely  Chinese  jest,  and  one  grim 
as  anything  in  all  literature,  is  the  saying  of  the 
Chinese  executioner  to  the  condemned  victim, 
"Stick  your  head  out,  or  tuck  it  in!  off  it  goes,  just 
the  same!" 

In  somewhat  the  same  strain  -of  "gallows 
humor"  is  the  tale  of  the  Chinese  magistrate. 
One  of  his  subordinates  had  a  shrewish  wife,  who 
used  to  make  his  life  miserable,  and,  on  occasion, 
to  inflict  on  him  bodily  chastisement.  On  a 
certain  occasion,  when  he  had  come  home  singing 
and  rather  the  worse  for  wear,  in  the  cool  of  the 
dawn,  the  worthy  lady  expressed  her  resentment 
by  scratching  his  face  with  vigor  and  precision. 

2 


THE  GRIMLY  HUMOR  OF  JOHN  CHINAMAN 

He  made  his  appearance  at  the  magistrate's 
house,  and  was  asked  for  explanations.  "Your 
Honor,"  he  said,  "it  is — oh,  it  is  really  nothing 
at  all!  I  was — I  was  in  my  garden,  working,  and 
my  vine  trellis  fell  down  and  scratched  me!  That 
is  all,  your  Honor!'7 

The  magistrate  looked  at  him  keenly,  and  then 
gradually  broke  into  a  voiceless  Chinese  laugh. 
He  had  been  there  himself,  had  marital  troubles 
of  his  own,  and  recognized  the  signs.  Then  he 
began  to  get  angry,  remembering  his  own  sor- 
rows. 

"Why  deceive  me?"  he  cried.  "Wretched  man, 
I  know  the  true  origin  of  your  sufferings!  It  is 
your  wife,  sinful  woman  that  she  is,  that  inflicted 
on  you  these  scars!  Oh,  shameless  and  in- 
corrigible race  of  women!  How  many  are  the 
sins  that  must  be  laid  at  your  doors!  Crafty 
deceivers  of  men,  you  lacerate  our  hearts  with  a 
thousand  thorns!  Like  vampires,  you  come  close 
to  us,  only  to  suck  our  blood!  Like  serpents — " 

At  this  point  the  magistrate  looked  up.  Just 
behind  the  door  he  saw  the  threatening  figure  of 
his  own  wife  grasping  a  cudgel  and,  tucking  up 
her  sleeve,  preparing  for  an  onslaught. 

"Go,  my  good  man!  Go!"  he  said,  suddenly, 
turning  to  his  subordinate.  "Never  mind  your 
wife,  but  go!  My  vine  trellis  is  about  to  fall 
too!" 

Somewhat  in  the  same  vein  is  the  Chinese  say- 
ing, "A  man  thinks  he  knows,  but  a  woman  knows 

better."     And  the  Chinese  have  altered  a  uni- 

3 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

versal  proverb  into  the  saying,  "Man  proposes, 
woman  disposes!" 

There  is  a  grim  touch,  genuinely  Chinese,  in  the 
proverb,  "A  red-nosed  man  may  be  a  teetotaler, 
but  no  one  will  believe  it."  And  even  better  is 
the  saying,  ("  It  is  not  the  wine  that  makes  a  man 
drunk;  it  is  the  man  himself/?  Equally  good  is 
this,  "Don't  pull  up  your  shoe  in  your  neighbor's 
melon-patch;  don't  fix  your  hat  under  your 
neighbor's  plum-tree."  There  is  fine  practical 
wisdom  in  that,  and  in  truth  this  kind  of  practical 
good  sense  is  a  religion  with  the  Chinese.  Con- 
fucius himself  is  credited  with  the  saying,  "If 
you  suspect  a  man,  don't  employ  him;  if  you  em- 
ploy him,  don't  suspect  him!"  There  are  a  good 
many  sayings  about  money,  in  the  same  worldly- 
wise  vein.  For  example,  "With  money  you  can 
move  the  gods;  without  money  you  cannot  move 
a  man";  or  this,\"If  a  man  has  money,  he  will 
find  plenty  of  people  with  scales  to  weigh  it."\ 
Even  more  cynical  is  the  saw,  \"  No  image-maker 
worships  the  gods.  He  knows  what  they  are 
made  of  "  |  or  this,  "We  love  our  own  compositions, 
but  other  men's  wives."  There  is  the  same  rather 
dry  and  bitter  wit  in  the  proverb,  "He  who  rides 
a  tiger  cannot  dismount,"  none  the  less  true  in 
general,  though  we  have  just  disproved  it  in  the 
particular.  This  suggests  another  Chinese  saying, 
"The  faults  that  a  man  condemns  when  out  of 
office,  he  commits  when  in." 

But  there  is  a  gentler  and  kindlier  touch  in 

some  Chinese  sayings,  as  for  instance,  "If  you 

4 


THE  GRIMLY  HUMOR  OF  JOHN  CHINAMAN 

cannot  draw  a  tiger,  draw  a  dog!"  though  even 
here  one  suspects  that  the  application  is  often 
sardonic.  More  sincerely  moral  is  the  saying, 
"  Cleanse  your  heart  as  you  would  cleanse  a  plate  "  ; 
and  Mencius  put  deep  wisdom  into  his  sentence, 
"Life  feeds  upon  adversity  and  sorrow.  Death 
comes  amid  pleasure  and  repose." 

The  philosopher  Chwang  was  a  disciple  of  Lao- 
Tse  and  the  mystic  Way.  It  is  related  that  he 
was  unfortunate  in  his  matrimonial  ventures.  His 
first  wife  died  young.  His  second  wife  ran  away 
with  one  of  his  students,  leaving  a  satirical  verse 
to  inform  the  philosopher  that  she  also  was  in 
quest  of  a  way,  and  thought  she  had  found  it. 
His  third  wife  he  married  several  years  later,  a 
veritable  match  of  the  scented  iris  of  spring  with 
the  chrysanthemum  of  autumn.  Yet  she  pro- 
tested that  she  was  devoted  to  her  philosopher. 

One  day  the  worshipful  Chwang  was  out  walk- 
ing up  on  the  hillside,  communing  with  nature  in 
solitude,  when  he  happened  to  stroll  into  the 
cemetery.  There,  beside  a  new-made  grave,  he 
beheld  a  young  and  lovely  lady  clad  in  sad 
vestments,  diligently  fanning  the  little  mound  of 
fresh-heaped  earth. 

With  courteous  sympathy  the  philosopher  asked 
her  why  she  did  this. 

"Because  of  my  foolish  husband!"  she  answered. 
"He  is  here.  And  just  before  he  died  he  made  me 
promise  not  to  marry  again  until  the  earth  on 
his  grave  was  quite  dry.  I  have  been  watching 
it  for  days,  and,  oh,  it  is  so  slow!"  And  she 

5 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

looked  up  archly,  with  sweet,  pathetic  eyes,  at  our 
good  Chwang. 

"But  your  wrists  are  not  strong  enough  for  such 
toil!"  he  said,  his  eyes  drawn  and  held  by  hers; 
"let  me  relieve  your  labor  for  a  time." 

"By  all  means!"  cried  the  lady,  brightening. 
"Here  is  the  fan,  and  I  shall  owe  you  a  lasting  debt 
of  gratitude,  if  you  fan  it  dry  as  quick  as  possible." 

Straightway  good  Chwang  set  to  work,  and, 
being  the  possessor  of  certain  magic  powers,  as  all 
philosophers  should  be,  he  quickly  drew  forth  every 
drop  of  moisture  from  the  grave  and  then,  with  a 
smile,  returned  the  fan  to  the  fan1  lady. 

Smiling  joyfully,  she  cried,  "How  can  I  ever 
thank  you  enough  for  your  kind  help!  As  a  little 
token  of  my  gratitude,  let  me  present  you  with  this 
second  fan,  which  I  had  in  reserve,  and  also  pray 
accept  one  of  my  silver  hair-pins." 

Daintily  she  drew  forth  the  cut  silver  hair-pin 
from  her  shining  tresses,  and  tendered  it  to  the 
embarrassed  philosopher.  Mindful  of  his  gentle 
spouse,  the  Lady  Tien,  he  thought  better  not  to 
accept  it,  but  was  willing  to  take  the  fan. 

When  he  came  home,  sate  him  in  his  hall,  and 
pondered  over  the  happening  on  the  hillside,  he 
sighed  deeply,  thinking  on  the  lightness  of  women. 

"Why  does  my  august  lord  sigh?"  asked  the 
Lady  Tien — "and  what  is  that  fan  in  your  hand?" 

Chwang  told  her  what  had  befallen  in  the 
cemetery,  making,  however,  no  mention  of  the 
hair-pin,  and  saying,  at  the  end,  that,  alas,  all 

womankind  were  so! 

6 


THE  GRIMLY  HUMOR  OF  JOHN  CHINAMAN 

The  Lady  Tien  was  indignant.  Why  condemn 
all  for  the  vice  of  one?  she  said;  were  there  not 
multitudes  of  faithful  ladies  in  the  Middle  King- 
dom, even  from  of  old  unto  the  present  day? 
Shame  and  grief  came  on  her,  she  said,  for  her 
lord's  censure;  and,  for  her  part,  she  would  rather 
die  a  thousand  deaths  than  follow  in  the  footsteps 
of  that  too  hasty  widow! 

The  venerable  Chwang  raised  his  eyebrows 
with  a  deprecating  smile,  waved  his  hand  gently, 
as  who  should  say  So  be  it,  and  let  the  matter 
drop.  But  the  very  next  day  his  countenance  was 
altered,  and  he  began  to  peak  and  pine.  To  be 
brief,  in  spite  of  the  Lady  Tien's  ministrations  and 
laments,  the  good  philosopher's  body  was  soon  in 
a  fine  coffin  of  lacquered  wood,  while  his  soul  had 
started  on  the  wild  journey  to  the  Yellow  Springs. 

Many  days  the  Lady  Tien  wept  and  grieved, 
pondering  on  the  high  excellences  of  her  departed 
philosopher;  and  her  neighbors  came  and  lamented 
with  her.  Among  the  comers  was  a  youth,  fair 
of  face  and  demure  of  mien,  discreet  of  speech, 
and  elegantly  appareled,  with  a  man-servant, 
who  announced  that  his  master  was  a  prince  of  the 
kingdom  of  Tsu,  come  to  enroll  himself  as  a  pupil 
of  the  excellent  and  venerable  Chwang. 

These  words  made  the  tears  of  the  Lady  Tien 
to  gush  forth  afresh  as  she  told  the  youth  that 
never,  never  could  he  hear  wisdom  from  those 
sainted  lips,  for  that  Chwang  himself  was  even 
now  listening  to  the  decrees  of  the  great  Assessor. 

The  youth,   profoundly  distressed,   exchanged 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

his  silk  attire  for  mourning  vestments,  begging 
only  that  the  Lady  Tien  would  permit  him  to  re- 
main and  mourn  for  a  hundred  days,  thus  to  show 
his  reverent  sorrow  for  the  departed  Chwang. 
So  he  began  diligently  to  water  the  earth  with  his 
tears. 

The  tears  of  the  Lady  Tien  mingled  with  the  tears 
of  the  Prince  of  Tsu,  and  their  sighs  merged  to- 
gether amid  the  first  airs  of  dawn  and  the  zephyrs 
of  evening.  Ere  ten  of  the  hundred  days  were 
spent,  sweet  sympathy  had  been  born  in  their 
eyes  and  had  stolen  into  their  hearts.  Yet  the 
young  prince  protested  that  never,  never  could  a 
pupil  wed  the  relict  of  his  revered  preceptor;  there 
he  would  die  unwed. 

"But,"  said  the  Lady  Tien,  "you  were  not  really 
the  pupil  of  the  aged  Chwang!  You  only  hoped 
to  be,  and  that,  you  know,  is  altogether  dif- 
ferent!" 

When  the  Lady  Tien  said  she  had  compunctions, 
and  yet,  and  yet. . .  .  Had  not  the  hard-hearted 
Chwang  driven  his  first  wife  to  an  early  grave? 
and  his  cruelty  had  compelled  the  second  wife  to 
flee  for  refuge  to  her  parents — so  the  Lady  Tien 
told  the  tale — while  she  herself,  poor  saint,  had 
endured  much  from  his  jealousy  and  faithlessness; 
and  she  knew  that  he  had  secret  meetings  in 
cemeteries  and  on  desert  hillsides. 

The  Prince  of  Tsu  assented  and  demurred  by 
turns.  How  could  they  wed,  he  said,  while  the 
coffin  of  the  late  Chwang  lay  in  state  in  the  chief 
room  of  the  house? 

8 


THE  GRIMLY  HUMOR  OF  JOHN  CHINAMAN 

That,  said  the  Lady  Tien,  could  be  arranged;  for 
she  would  have  the  coffin  carried  out  to  the  wood- 
shed behind  the  house.  But,  said  the  Prince  of 
Tsu,  he  had  not  wherewithal  to  provide  fit  gifts, 
nor  yet  marriage  robes  and  trappings  for  the 
festive  day. 

Nay,  said  the  lady,  this  need  be  no  obstacle. 
She  herself  would  see  to  the  presents,  and  from 
the  store  of  the  lamented  Chwang  she  would 
provide  the  wedding  robes. 

So  day,  by  day,  the  hundred  days  sped  by,  and 
the  day  agreed  on  for  the  wedding  came.  With 
it  came  the  ceremony,  and  the  Lady  Tien's  cup 
of  joy  seemed  full.  But  fate  was  ripening  against 
her,  for  her  faithlessness  and  her  protestations 
against  the  lady  of  the  cemetery.  For,  lo  and 
behold,  no  sooner  was  the  ceremony  over  than 
the  Prince  of  Tsu  was  taken  with  sudden  spasms 
and  convulsions  and  grievous  fits,  so  that  he  fell 
to  the  ground,  beating  his  breast  with  his  hands. 
Then,  with  a  shudder,  he  closed  his  eyes. 
:  The  Lady  Tien  was  terrified.  She  asked  the  old 
man-servant  of  the  prince  if  this  had  ever  befallen 
hitherto,  and  what  they  did  for  it.  He  answered 
that  it  had,  and  that  there  was  but  one  remedy: 
to  pour  into  his  lips  soup  made  from  the  brains  of 
a  man. 

The  Lady  Tien  was  first  horrified,  then  doubting, 
then  resolute.  " There  is  the  late  Chwang!" 
she  said.  "I  myself  will  go,  and  bring  his  brains 
to  make  soup  for  my  prince !" 

So  she  took  an  ax  whose  haft  was  lacquered  red, 

9 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

and  went  with  firm  step  and  beating  heart  to  the 
shed  where  the  coffin  lay.  Without  a  moment's 
delay,  she  raised  the  ax,  aimed  well  at  the  coffin 
lid,  and  struck  valiantly,  and  struck  again. 

At  the  tenth  blow  the  lid  parted,  cleft  down  its 
length;  and  the  philosopher  Chwang,  with  a 
resonant  sneeze,  sat  up  in  his  coffin. 

The  Lady  Tien  shrieked  in  terror,  and  dropped 
the  ax. 

"My  beloved  spouse,"  quietly  said  the  philos- 
opher, "I  am  somewhat  cramped;  pray  aid  me 
to  rise!"  Leaning  on  her  arm,  he  made  his  way 
to  the  inner  chamber,  and  with  each  step  her 
heart  sank  deeper,  for  she  knew  that  the  young 
Prince  of  Tsu  was  still  lying  there. 

To  her  infinite  relief,  not  a  sign  of  the  prince  or 
of  his  old  man-servant  was  to  be  seen.  They  had 
vanished  into  thin  air,  as  it  seemed. 

Eagerly  the  Lady  Tien  began:  "Oh,  worshipful 
spouse!  Ever  since  your  soul  departed  for  the 
Yellow  Springs,  you  have  been  in  my  heart,  day 
and  night.  Even  now,  as  I  was  watching  by  you, 
hearing  a  slight  stirring  within  your  coffin,  I 
broke  it  open  with  a  hatchet,  thinking  that 
haply  you  might  be  alive!  Thanks  be  to  august 
Heaven  for  my  renewed  felicity." 

"Sincere  thanks,  madam,"  courteously  replied 
the  wise  Chwang.  "But  may  I  ask  why  this  gay 
apparel?" 

The  lady  was  stumped  for  an  instant.  Then 
she  made  reply:  "Venerable  spouse!  I  had  a 

presentiment  of  my  good-fortune,  and  so  donned 

10 


THE    PHILOSOPHER   CHWANG    SAT   UP   IN    HIS    COFFIN 


THE  GRIMLY  HUMOR  OP  JOHN  CHINAMAN 

these  bright  robes,  not  willing  to  receive  you  back 
to  life  in  mourning  vestments !" 

"And  why,"  again  asked  the  sage,  "was  my 
coffin  set  in  the  shed?" 

The  Lady  Tien  could  find  no  answer.  And 
before  them  were  the  wine-cups,  standing  there 
from  the  wedding  feast.  The  sage  made  no  com- 
ment on  them,  save  only  to  ask  the  Lady  Tien 
for  a  cup  of  warm  wine.  Then,  suddenly  growing 
stern,  he  pointed  over  her  shoulder. 

"Look,"  he  said,  "at  those  two  men  behind 
you!" 

The  Lady  Tien  turned  with  dread  certitude 
that  she  would  see  the  Prince  of  Tsu  and  his 
man;  and  so  it  was.  But  Chwang  was  vanished. 
Then  the  two  men  vanished,  and  Chwang  as 
suddenly  reappeared. 

The  Lady  Tien  at  last  saw  the  truth :  the  Prince 
of  Tsu  was  but  an  apparition  of  old  Chwang  him- 
self, the  whole  matter  was  contrived  to  try  her, 
and  the  full  measure  of  her  infidelity  was  known. 
So  in  despair  she  unwound  her  girdle  from  her 
slender  waist,  tied  one  end  over  a  beam,  and 
straightway  hanged  herself  by  the  neck  till  she 
was  dead.  Thus  ends  the  pleasant  and  most  ex- 
cellently conceited  comedy  of  the  philosopher 
Chwang  and  his  third  wife,  amusingly  illustrating 
the  fickleness  of  women. 

So  there  we  have  the  spirit  of  the  Chinese  jest, 
with  a  sting  in  it  as  bitter  as  the  merry-making  of 
the  wise  Solomon,  king  over  Israel,  a  sharpness  of 

edge  only  equaled  among   modern  people,  per- 
il 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

haps,  by  the  spiced  jests  of  Caledonia.  I  am 
inclined  to  blame  the  great  Confucius  for  this 
grimness  of  Chinese  wit.  How  could  •  a  people 
joke  freely  in  the  straight-laced  primness  which 
he  fixed  upon  the  Middle  Kindgom?  Just  as  the 
formalism  of  the  ancient  Jew  or  the  religious 
bigotry  of  the  Scotch  Presbyterian  killed  gentle 
humor,  so  did  the  prodigiously  priggish  mood  of 
Confucius's  "superior  man."  It  took  the  royster- 
ing  jollity  of  Harun  al  Rashid's  Bagdad,  or  our 
own  Western  border,  once  more  to  release  from 
her  bonds  fair  Humor,  tenth  of  the  nine  Muses. 

Lest  it  be  thought  that  the  Chinese  spirit  is 
altogether  grim,  I  quote  a  little  parable  of  another 
Chwang,  or,  it  may  be,  the  very  sage  who  wedded 
the  Lady  Tien;  but  this  charming  fragment  is 
quite  authentic. 

"Once  on  a  time,"  he  said,  "I  dreamed  I  was 
a  butterfly  flitting  from  flower  to  flower  in  the 
sunshine.  Butterfly-like,  I  followed  every  fancy, 
forgetting  altogether  that  I  was  a  man.  Sud- 
denly I  awoke,  and  there  I  lay,  a  man  once  more. 
And  now  I  know  not  whether  I  then  dreamed  I 
was  a  butterfly,  or  whether  I  am  now  a  butterfly, 
dreaming  myself  a  man." 


II 

A  MONGOLIAN   MUSIC   COMEDY 

A  WITTY  person  has  recorded  the  belief  that 
/A  there  have  never  been  but  two  stories  on 
the  stage:  the  first,  two  men  and  one  woman, 
which  is  essentially  tragic ;  the  second,  two  women 
and  one  man,  which  makes  for  inevitable  comedy. 
Without  making  the  point  that,  in  these  feminist 
days,  we  may  have  to  reverse  this  conclusion,  one 
may  admit  that,  while  all  comedy  situations  can 
hardly  be  reduced  to  one,  yet  they  are  few  in 
number — as  few,  perhaps,  as  the  original  jokes. 
One  finds  these  essentially  comic  situations  in  all 
lands,  throughout  all  times.  I  have  just  been 
reading  a  Turkish  play  from  the  frosty  Caucasus 
with  a  swashbuckling  hero  very  like  Falstaff,  a 
group  of  Armenian  knaves  resembling  closely 
Bardolf  and  the  Ancient  Pistol — in  a  word,  the 
whole  atmosphere  of  the  Prince  Hal  comedies.  In 
one  of  his  rollicking,  boisterous  satires  Aris- 
tophanes has  anticipated  the  whole  New  Woman 
movement;  and  in  a  Mongolian  comedy  I  find  a 
somewhat  rowdy  humor  playing  with  the  very 
themes  of  Chaucer  and  Boccaccio. 

The  central  figure  of  the  play,  half  villain,  half 

13 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

hero,  is  a  worthless  old  rascal,  Ah  Lan  by  name, 
who,  like  his  cousin  Ah  Sin,  is  a  good  deal  of  a 
gambler;  but,  unlike  Ah  Sin,  he  does  not  know 
how  to  stack  the  cards.  He  is  always  losing  his 
last  cent,  or  his  last  cash,  at  Fan-Tan,  and  is  sober 
only  through  the  necessity  of  his  losses  and  the 
leanness  of  his  credit.  Set  against  Ah  Lan  is  his 
worthy  wife,  a  vigorous,  shrill-tongued  shrew,  who 
exerts  her  feminine  influence  on  her  spouse  through 
the  medium  of  a  rod  no  thicker  than  her  thumb; 
nay,  she  does  not  hesitate  to  square  up  at  her 
husband  with  her  fists,  and  on  occasion  to  give 
him  a  knock-out  blow.  A  notable  woman,  truly, 
and  able  to  take  care  of  herself,  yet  in  her  own 
crude,  jolly  way  genuinely  loving  her  worthless 
spouse.  A  third  figure  in  the  comedy  is  a  Bud- 
dhist monk;  and  here  one  is  vividly  reminded  of 
Chaucer's  knavish  Pardoner  and  certain  riotous 
incidents  in  the  Decameron.  For  the  monk  is 
a  shameless  scamp  who  has  taken  vows  only  to 
break  them;  a  sworn  vegetarian  whose  mind  runs 
on  roast  pork,  or,  to  be  more  literal,  tenderly 
cooked  puppy;  a  pledged  celibate,  always  in 
quest  of  adventures  among  the  fair  sex,  and,  in 
particular,  somewhat  swiftly  smitten  by  the 
primitive  charms  of  Ah  Lan's  wife.  To  add  a 
Chaucerian  touch,  the  knavish  monk  is  a  hump- 
back, with  a  hump  in  his  nature,  too,  as  our 
philosopher  says.  Add  two  street  rowdies,  gam- 
blers, and  knockabout  men,  and  you  have  the 
precious  personnel  complete;  complete,  that  is, 
but  for  Ah  Lan's  pig,  which  gives  the  title  to  the 

14 


A  MONGOLIAN  MUSIC   COMEDY 

play.  But  the  wearer  of  the  title  role  in  this  case 
has  but  a  thinking  part.  This  Mongolian  porker 
is  no  barnyard  Romeo  full  of  eloquence. 

With  such  figures  of  essential  comedy  the  play 
opens.  There  is  the  banging  of  gongs,  the 
shrilling  and  screeching  of  weird  instruments,  the 
thumping  of  empty  barrels,  and  all  the  other 
elements  of  Chinese  stage  music,  which  have 
found  modern  echo  in  Berlin.  Seated  on  the  stage 
is  the  good  mistress  Ah  Lan,  a  rowdy,  ragged 
figure  of  a  woman  in  faded,  frowzy  garb,  who  sings 
of  her  woes  in  a  high  nasal  treble.  As  is  in- 
evitable in  a  Mongolian  play,  she  announces  her 
name  and  address.  "  My  name  is  Mistress  Wong," 
she  says,  "  and  I  am  wedded  to  the  ne'er-do-weel 
Ah  Lan.  I  have  sent  him  to  the  market  with  a 
strip  of  cloth  to  sell,  of  my  own  weaving;  why 
does  the  knave  not  come  back?"  Then  she  drops 
into  song  again,  enlarging  on  the  utter  depravity 
of  mere  man  in  general,  and  of  her  own  spouse  in 
particular,  and  ending  with  the  announcement 
that,  as  he  is  so  long  in  coming,  she  will  lie  in  wait 
for  him  with  a  club,  which  she  twirls  skilfully  in 
her  hand,  swishing  it  through  the  air  in  a  fashion 
which  promises  much  for  Ah  Lan. 

Meanwhile  that  unpresentable  but  withal  cheer- 
ful hero  is  making  his  way  home,  disconsolate  and 
quaking  with  apprehension.  He  has  taken  the 
strip  of  cloth  to  the  market,  it  is  true ;  he  has  even 
got  a  fair  price  for  it;  but — and  here  lies  the  tragedy 
of  the  piece — he  thereupon  found  his  disreputable 
feet  carrying  him,  as  long  wont  had  accustomed 

15 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

them,  to  a  Fan-Tan  joint,  where  a  greasy  and 
pigtailed  croupier  invited  his  guests  to  "make 
their  bets  while  the  ball  was  in  motion/'  or,  rather, 
to  preserve  the  unities  of  the  game,  to  bet  on  the 
number  of  counters  that  would  remain  in  his 
hand  when,  taking  a  big  handful  at  haphazard 
from  the  pile,  he  counted  them  out  of  his  hand  by 
fours,  thus  leaving  either  one,  two,  three,  or  four 
in  the  last  handful.  For  so  goes  the  game  of  Fan- 
Tan.  His  guests,  among  them  the  hapless,  un- 
deserving Ah  Lan,  laid  their  copper  cash,  at  ten  to 
the  cent,  on  squares  of  painted  cloth  marked  with 
the  numbers  up  to  four;  and  when  they  guessed 
right  the  croupier  paid  them,  and  when  they 
guessed  wrong  they  paid  him.  Thus  does  the 
heathen  risk  his  money. 

All  this,  of  course,  takes  place  behind  the  scenes 
of  our  play.  Ah  Lan  loses  his  last  cent,  in  this 
case  the  price  for  Mistress  Wong's  strip  of  cloth. 
And  he  comes  home  lamenting  the  fickleness  of  the 
Mongolian  Goddess  Fortune  and  reciting  the  story, 
after  duly  naming  himself  to  the  audience,  in  their 
primitive  Eastern  fashion.  He  realizes,  too,  that 
his  spouse  is  in  all  probability  waiting  for  him 
at  home  with  a  stick;  though  an  Oriental,  she  is  a 
club-woman.  He  is  not  disappointed.  As  in 
western  lands,  the  lady  is  first  at  the  rendezvous. 
She  greets  him  ironically,  as  he  comes  in,  and  asks, 
very  pointedly,  whether  he  has  sold  the  strip  of 
cloth.  Ah  Lan  cannot  tell  a  lie;  at  least  in  this 
case  he  does  not.  Yes,  he  has  sold  the  cloth. 
Where  is  it?  In  the  hands  of  the  Fan-Tan  man. 

16 


\ 


A  MONGOLIAN  MUSIC  COMEDY 


He  had  beastly  luck;  whenever  he  put  his  money 
on  the  four,  the  croupier  held  three  chips;  if  he 
bet  on  three,  the  croupier  had  two,  or  one,  or  four, 
but  never  by  any  chance  just  three.  At  this  point 
Mistress  Wong  begins  to  warm  up.  The  club 
comes  forward,  and  at  each  incriminating  answer 
Ah  Lan  gets  a  rap  over  the  knuckles,  not  meta- 
phorically, but  in  very  deed.  He  abuses  the  crou- 
pier, calling  him  a  tortoise-egg,  where  we  should 
say  a  lobster;  and  declares  that  the  black  tortoise 
of  Fortune  withdrew  its  head,  for  Ah  Lan  thinks  in 
tortoises.  At  this,  wronged  womanhood  flares  up, 
and,  after  a  warning  song  in  which  she  eloquently 
declares  her  intention,  she  begins  to  beat  him  in 
earnest. 

Ah  Lan  finally  stops  her  by  pleading  contrition, 
and  saying  that  he  is  going  to  reform,  reform  and 
go  into  Big  Business;  in  fact,  open  a  pawnshop. 
But  his  wife  pointedly  replies  that  he  has  not 
enough  money  to  pay  for  the  pawn-tickets,  which 
seems  a  very  unwifely  retort.  Ah  Lan  admits  it, 
and  says  that,  if  he  cannot  have  a  pawnshop, 
he  will  at  least  start  a  big  trading  junk,  and  get 
rich  by  merchandise.  But  his  ruthless  and  club- 
able  spouse  administers  another  crushing  rebuff. 
She  tells  him  that  he  has  not  the  price  of  a  piece  of 
cord,  much  less  the  cost  of  a  ship.  He  thinks  it 
over,  admits  that  it  is  true,  and  says  that  he  will 
at  least  start  a  stall  for  the  vending  of  bean 
porridge,  which,  if  it  brings  little,  at  least  costs 
little.  But  the  hard-hearted  lady  says  he  has  not 
even  capital  for  that.  Then  Ah  Lan  has  an  idea: 

17 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

there  is  the  pig,  his  wife's  beloved  pigling,  which 
will  fetch,  in  open  market,  nearly  two  thousand 
cash,  or,  as  we  might  say,  two  dollars.  And  with 
that  you  can  buy  the  makings  of  much  bean 
porridge. 

Now  comes  a  touch  of  unverisimilitude.  That 
oft-deceived  and  ill-treated  lady,  Mistress  Wong, 
in  spite  of  all  her  bitter  experience,  turns  over  to 
him  the  pigling,  darling  of  her  heart,  and  sends 
him  off  to  sell  it  in  the  market.  Any  one  with  even 
a  small  experience  of  story-reading  could  have 
told  her  that  the  pig  would  go  the  way  of  the 
strip  of  cloth;  but  she  is  confiding,  and  does  not 
think  of  accompanying  her  untrustworthy  broker, 
who  hales  the  pig  forth  to  the  market.  One  thing 
the  lady  has  done  as  a  kind  of  precaution.  She 
has  made  Ah  Lan  swear,  by  the  divinity  of  Sun, 
Moon,  and  Stars,  that  he  will  not  misuse  the  cash 
nor  turn  it  into  the  byway  of  Fan-Tan;  and  the 
scene  of  the  swearing  is  funny  enough.  For,  in 
spite  of  his  recent  beating,  Ah  Lan  is  a  comic 
rogue,  and  his  oath  first  takes  this  form:  "  Sun, 
Moon,  and  Stars,  ye  lights  of  the  firmaments,  if  Ah 
Lan  goes  a-gambling,  I  pray  you  do  to  death  the 
daughter  of  my  mother-in-law!"  But  his  wife 
very  naturally  objects  that  this  won't  do.  He 
must  say  it  again.  So  he  swears  thus :  "  Sun,  Moon, 
Stars,  if  Ah  Lan  goes  gambling,  may  he  have  no 
toes  on  his  heels,  no  corns  on  his  skull,  no  boils  on 
his  hair!"  But  the  goodwife  will  not  pass  that, 
so  he  at  last  swears  that  if  Ah  Lan  goes  a-gambling, 
he  may  never  have  a  coffin  when  he  is  dead.  When 

18 


A  MONGOLIAN  MUSIC  COMEDY 

a  Mongolian  says  that,  he  is  in  earnest.  His 
wife  thinks  so,  too,  and  produces  the  pig,  at  which 
he  grunts,  to  encourage  it,  and  off  they  go  to 
market  with  a  song. 

To  him  chanting  the  virtues  of  the  pigling, 
enter  two  Ruffians  just  as  Shakespeare  would  say, 
Enter:  two  Murderers.  These  are  only  gamblers 
and  bruisers,  however,  so  much  as  we  see  of  them 
at  least;  but  the  experienced  reader  knows,  the 
instant  they  appear,  that  the  pigling  is  done  for. 
But  before  inexorable  fate  overtakes  it,  there  is 
an  amusing  bit  of  comedy  in  the  style  of  Lord  Dun- 
dreary. Mistress  Wong  has  given  him  leave  to 
sell  the  pig  for  a  thousand  cash — that  is,  a  dollar — 
but  has  ordered  him  on  no  account  to  accept 
eighty  cents.  So,  when  the  Ruffians,  with  no 
true  intention  of  paying,  ask  him  the  price  of  his 
pig,  his  fuddled  mind  wavers  between  two  prices: 
the  thousand  cash,  which  he  may  take,  and  the 
eight  hundred,  which  he  must  refuse.  He  tries 
again  and  again  to  do  the  arithmetic  of  it;  finally 
he  holds  up  one  finger  for  the  thousand,  and 
eight  for  the  eight  hundred;  the  latter  is  obviously 
more,  so  he  tells  the  robbers  that  he  will  take 
eight  hundred,  because  a  thousand  isn't  enough. 
In  fact,  it  is  just  like  selling  Adirondack  lands  to 
the  State;  you  pay  half  as  much  again  as  the  seller 
is  willing  to  take.  But  in  the  Mongolian  play 
the  poor  purchaser  doesn't  get  even  the  lower 
price,  for  one  of  the  Ruffians  promptly  goes  off 
with  the  pig,  while  the  other  avers  that  he  must 
go  seek  a  grass  to  string  the  cash  on. 

19 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

Ah  Lan  sees  himself  once  more  swindled,  and 
with  sound  judgment  foresees  another  hiding  from 
his  wife.  This  gives  him  an  idea.  He  calls  back 
the  Ruffian,  and  tells  him  he  may  have  the  pig 
and  welcome,  if  he  will  only  show  Ah  Lan  some 
good  knock-out  blows  for  the  benefit  of  his  wife. 
He  means  to  be  forehanded  with  the  lady  this 
time.  So  he  stands  up,  and  the  Ruffian  obligingly 
punches  him  and  knocks  him  over,  telling  him  in 
each  case  the  name  of  the  blow;  and  then,  having 
apparently  something  of  a  conscience,  though  he 
is  a  heathen,  he  lets  Ah  Lan  practise  the  blows 
on  him  and  knock  him  over.  So  Ah  Lan  returns 
to  his  home,  pigless  yet  rejoicing.  The  un- 
expected once  more  occurs.  For  when  he  returns, 
confident  in  his  new  accomplishment,  and  boasts 
that  he  has  spent  the  money  learning  to  box,  his 
wife  tells  him  to  come  on,  and  lands  him  one  on 
the  solar  plexus;  which  is  not  bad  for  the  Land  of 
Golden  Lilies.  She  gives  him,  indeed,  such  a 
thorough  drubbing  that  he  is  presently  helpless; 
and,  throwing  a  cloth  over  his  head,  she  ties  him 
to  the  door-post  and  goes  off  stage,  telling  him 
that  she  is  going  to  have  something  succulent  to 
eat,  and  will  then  come  back  and  punch  him  some 
more;  which  is  heartless,  if  you  remember  that  he 
has  had  nothing  to  eat  since  the  day  before. 

Thereupon  enters  the  Chaucerian  figure,  a 
Buddhist  monk,  dirty,  humpbacked,  greedy- 
eyed,  for  all  the  world  like  the  Pardoner  of  The 
Canterbury  Tales.  This  Buddhist  monk,  for  all 
his  vow  to  eat  no  meat,  is  thinking  audibly  of  a 

20 


A  MONGOLIAN  MUSIC   COMEDY 

juicy  puppy  stew  he  had  the  week  before,  and 
another  he  hopes  for  in  the  week  to  come;  and  as 
he  thinks  aloud  he  licks  his  lips,  and  presently 
espies  Ah  Lan,  or,  at  least,  as  much  as  can  be  seen 
of  the  old  scamp,  with  his  head  in  the  bag.  Not 
sure  whether  he  has  to  deal  with  man  or  demon, 
he  approaches  cautiously  and  accosts  Ah  Lan. 
The  old  rascal,  from  the  depths  of  his  bag,  assures 
him  that  he  is  a  man,  and  the  monk  releases  him; 
whereupon  Ah  Lan  mocks  him  aside,  for  a  shave- 
ling knave,  which,  in  truth,  he  is.  But  Ah  Lan 
goes  further  than  mere  mockery;  pretending 
gratitude  for  his  release,  he  declares  that  he  can 
cure  the  hump  on  the  monk's  back.  But  at  first 
the  monk  declares  he  has  nothing  to  pay  with. 
Finally  he  bethinks  him  to  give  Ah  Lan  the  sub- 
scription-list, whereon  he  is  gathering  cash  to  buy 
temple  oil,  and  the  old  rascal  assents,  and  takes  the 
list.  Here  is  another  touch  of  Chaucer's  Pardoner, 
for  the  list,  like  the  monk,  is  a  fraud.  Yet  Ah 
Lan  sees  its  possibilities  and  agrees  to  begin  the 
cure.  And  first,  he  says,  the  monk  must  put  his 
head  in  the  bag  and  be  tied  up  to  the  door-post. 
The  which  is  forthwith  done. 

In  Horace's  Art  of  Poetry  there  is  an  injunction 
that  nothing  too  terrible  should  be  done  on  the 
stage.  Perhaps  through  an  instinctive  feeling 
after  this  law,  the  dramatist  of  our  Mongolian 
comedy  leaves  to  our  imagination  the  scene  which 
immediately  follows,  wherein  a  number  of  good 
Chinamen  are  terribly  done  by  Ah  Lan  and  his 

fraudulent  subscription-list.     For,  rendered  con- 

21 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

fident  by  the  official  temple  seals  on  his  long  strip 
of  paper,  he  sallies  forth,  as  we  must  infer,  and 
touches  first  one  and  then  another  for  oil  for 
imaginary  temple  lamps.  And  we  can  imagine 
the  wheezing  whine  with  which  he  solicited  sub- 
scriptions, in  ways  that  were  childlike  and  bland. 
Doubtless  he  met  with  many  refusals,  receiving, 
as  the  old  proverb  said,  more  kicks  than  half- 
pence; doubtless  also  certain  fat  and  greasy 
citizens  were  importuned  into  parting  with  small 
quantities  of  cash,  with  squeaks  and  grunts  of 
discontentment.  But  the  temple  plea  availed; 
these  good  Celestials  had  some  thought  of  their 
souls,  and  of  what  might  happen  to  them  among 
the  Yellow  Hills  of  the  Dead,  if  they  refused  to 
subscribe  for  that  temple  oil.  So  they  paid;  and 
Ah  Lan  grinned,  promising  himself  many  games 
of  Fan-Tan,  in  which,  of  course,  he  was  going  to 
break  the  bank. 

The  result  at  least  we  know.  Ah  Lan  came 
back  with  a  well-filled  list  and  much  cash,  though 
the  details  of  the  gaining  of  it  were  too  dreadful 
for  representation.  But  while  he  was  gone,  much 
had  been  happening  in  his  home.  The  wicked 
humpbacked  monk,  we  must  remember,  had  been 
left,  with  a  sack  tied  over  his  head  and  tied  up  to 
the  door-post,  awaiting  a  magical  cure.  Ah  Lan, 
indeed,  with  a  fine  touch  of  humor,  had  promised 
him  that,  if  he  waited  patiently,  a  fairy  with  a 
wand  would  presently  appear  and  proceed  to 
straighten  him  out.  Which,  in  truth,  happened, 
yet  with  a  difference.  For  the  fairy  did  veritably 

22 


A  MONGOLIAN  MUSIC  COMEDY 

appear,  in  the  grimy  and  exasperated  person  of 
Mistress  Wong;  and  she  held  a  wand — that  is 
to  say,  a  club — with  which  she  did  proceed  to 
straighten  out  the  monk,  fondly  believing  him  to 
be  the  husband  of  her  bosom.  When  her  wrist 
grew  tired,  she  let  him  down  and  untied  the  sack 
from  his  graceless  head.  Whereupon  follows  a 
scene  frankly  anticlerical,  or  at  leaslf  antimonastic. 
For,  heedless  of  the  rule  of  his  order,  that  shaveling 
eater  of  stewed  puppy  straightway  fell  to  making 
eyes  at  the  old  shrew,  vowing  that  she  was  beauti- 
ful, lovely  as  the  fair  maid  in  whose  name  Don 
Quixote  challenged  an  unbelieving  world.  As 
lie  is  ogling  and  bowing,  begging  the  lady  for  a 
kiss,  which,  with  vigorous  and  decorative  speech, 
she  continues  to  refuse;  as  they  dodge  hither  and 
thither  about  the  stage,  giving  an  impersonation 
of  threatened  virtue,  Ah  Lan  returns  with  his  long 
subscription-list  and  his  strings  of  cash.  There- 
upon, seeing  his  wrinkled  old  wife  in  the  role  of 
distressed  damozel,  he  flies  to  her  rescue,  soundly 
thrashes  the  rascally  Buddhist,  and  at  last  drives 
him  from  the  scene.  The  further  adventures  of 
that  greedy  monk  would  furnish  good  matter  for 
some  Chinese  Flaubert  or  Zola,  who  might  follow 
him  through  unsavory  streets  into  unmentionable 
dens,  where  pipes  of  opium  might  soothe  his 
sorrows  and  inspire  new  schemes;  but  this  again 
is  left  to  our  imagination. 

Left  on  the  stage  are  the  old  rascal  Ah  Lan  and 
his  hardly  more  presentable  old  wife.  First  Ah 
Lan,  with  a  fine  assumption  at  once  of  courage 

3  23 


WHY  THE   WORLD  LAUGHS 

and  virtue,  berates  her  soundly  for  flirting  with 
the  man  of  the  tonsure,  adding  many  Darwinian 
epithets.  But  things  finally  quiet  down;  he  ex- 
plains how  the  monk  came  to  be  tied  up,  and  she 
explains  how  he  came  to  be  loosed  again.  Do- 
mestic contentment  being  thus  restored,  Ah  Lan 
suddenly  remembers  his  good  luck.  He  is  not 
exactly  wealthy,  but  he  has  coin,  the  strings  of 
cash  collected  for  the  temple,  and  he  and  his  wife 
with  glee  agree  that  at  last  they  have  the  needed 
capital  to  start  the  stall  for  the  dispensation  of 
bean  porridge,  and  the  curtain  descends  on  a 
scene  of  genuine  comedy,  as  the  graceless  old 
couple  sing  a  shrill  duo  of  domestic  felicity  and 
sweet  content. 


Ill 

HUMOR   IN   THE    JAPANESE    STYLE 

JAPAN  contributes  to  the  mirth  of  the  world 
one  of  the  rarest  of  all  things,  a  lady  humorist. 
I  know  not  where  we  might  find  another,  unless 
it  be  the  charming  and  nimble-witted  writer  of 
The  Rubaiyat  of  Bridge,  and  even  then  I  suspect 
the  Japanese  lady  of  incarnating  anew  in  New 
Jersey. 

Be  this  as  it  may,  the  authoress  of  the  Pillow 
Sketches,  who  bears  the  imposing  name  of  Sei 
Shonagon,  has  a  humorous  charm  that  is  all  her 
own,  and  there  is  something  essentially  modern  in 
the  best  sense  in  everything  she  wrote,  though  nine 
long  centuries  have  passed  since  she  graced  the 
Mikado's  court  at  Kyoto.  One  of  the  charming 
things  about  her  is  the  way  she  jests  with  the 
august  personage,  half  ruler  and  half  demigod, 
who  stood  at  the  summit  of  Japanese  life.  What, 
for  example,  could  be  more  winning  than  this 
cat-and-dog  story  as  she  indites  it? 

"The  august  Cat-in-waiting  on  the  Mikado/' 
she  tells  us,  "was  a  very  delightful  animal,  and  a 
great  favorite  with  his  Majesty,  who  conferred 
on  her  the  fifth  rank  of  nobility  and  the  title  of 

25 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

Chief  Superintendent  of  the  Ladies-in-waiting 
of  the  Palace.  One  day  the  Cat-in-waiting  had 
gone  out  on  the  bridge  between  two  of  the  buildings 
of  the  Palace,  when  the  nurse  in  charge  of  her 
called  out,  'How  indecorous!  Come  in  at  once!' 
But  the  Cat-in-waiting  paid  no  attention,  but 
basked  sleepily  in  the  sunshine.  So,  in  order  to 
frighten  her,  the  nurse  cried:  ' Where  is  Okina- 
maro?  Come,  Okinamaro!  Bite  the  Chief  Super- 
intendent!' The  foolish  dog,  thinking  she  was  in 
earnest,  flew  at  the  cat,  who  in  her  fright  and 
consternation  took  refuge  behind  the  screen  of 
the  breakfast-room,  where  His  Majesty  then  was. 
The  Mikado  was  greatly  shocked.  He  took  the 
cat  into  his  august  bosom,  and,  summoning  the 
Lord  Chamberlain,  gave  orders  that  Okinamaro 
should  have  a  good  thrashing  and  be  banished  to 
Dog  Island  at  once.  Alas,  poor  dog!  How  he 
used  to  swagger  at  his  ease.  When  he  was  led 
along  with  a  willow  wreath  upon  his  head,  and 
adorned  with  flowers  of  peach  and  cherry,  did  he 
ever  think  it  would  come  to  this?" 

The  good  lady  of  the  Pillow  Sketches  is  full  of 
shrewd  observation  and  graceful  expression.  For 
instance,  she  makes  a  list  of  detestable  things. 
"  People  who  ride  in  a  creaking  carriage,"  she  says, 
"  are  very  detestable,  and  must  be  deaf  as  well. 
When  you  ride  in  such  a  carriage  yourself,  it  is  the 
owner  who  is  detestable."  Again,  "  People  who 
interrupt  your  stories  to  show  off  their  own 
cleverness  are  detestable.  All  interrupters,  young 
or  old,  are  very  detestable.  People  who,  when 

26 


HUMOR  IN  THE  JAPANESE  STYLE 

you  are  telling  a  story,  break  in  with,  'Oh,  I 
know/  and  give  quite  a  different  version  from  your 
own,  are  detestable."  There  is  even  more  salt  in 
this:  "Very  detestable  is  the  snoring  of  a  man 
whom  you  are  trying  to  conceal  and  who  has  gone 
to  sleep  in  a  place  where  he  has  no  business.77  And 
the  universal  voice  of  humanity  will  bear  out  Sei 
Shonagon,  when  she  says  that  fleas  are  detestable, 
especially  when  they  get  under  your  clothing  and 
jump  about.  And  there  is  a  certain  fine  satiric 
note  in  the  saying  that  people  who  mumble  a 
prayer  when  they  sneeze  are  detestable,  with  the 
added  nota  bene,  "  Loud  sneezing  is  detestable, 
except  in  the  case  of  the  gentlemen  of  the  house. " 

One  sees  that,  like  the  more  modern  author  of 
"The  Mikado/7  the  lady  of  the  Pillow  Sketches 
had  got  "a  little  list'7;  and  on  that  list  she  puts  the 
preacher,  thus:  "A  preacher  ought  to  be  a  good- 
looking  man.  It  is  then  easier  to  keep  your  eyes 
fixed  on  his  face,  without  which  it  is  impossible  to 
benefit  by  the  sermon;  otherwise  your  eyes  wander 
and  you  forget  to  listen.  Ugly  preachers  have, 
therefore,  a  grave  responsibility.  But  no  more  of 
this!77  Then,  as  an  afterthought:  "If  preachers 
were  of  a  more  suitable  age,  I  should  have  pleasure 
in  giving  a  more  favorable  judgment.  As  matters 
actually  stand,  their  sins  are  fearful  to  think  of!7' 

The  peculiar  delicacy  of  touch  which  is  every- 
where in  Japanese  art  comes  out  in  every  line  of 
the  Pillow  Sketches.  They  are  indeed  of  the  land 
of  pink  cherry  blossoms.  There  is  a  racier  note 

in  some  of  the  proverbs  of  the  Japanese,  as,  for 

27 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

instance,  -in  the  saying,  "  Spanking  him  with  a 
pie";  of  some  one  who  does  a  real  kindness  in  a 
truculent  way.  In  somewhat  the  same  spirit 
is  the  saying,  "To  spank  a  cat  with  a  sledge- 
hammer/' where,  instead  of  the  cat,  our  own 
proverb  puts  a  walnut. 

Wittily  irreverent  is  the  saw,  "  We  call  on  the 
gods — when  we  are  in  a  fix  " ;  and  there  is  the  same 
touch  of  irony  in  the  saying, "  Pray  in  faith  even  to 
a*sardine,  and  your  prayer  will  be  granted !"  Some- 
what in  the  spirit  of  a  Japanese  water-color  is  the 
quaint  little  proverb,  "  While  the  tears  are  still  wet, 
a  bee  stings  you"— the  equivalent  for  the  saying 
that  troubles  never  come  singly.  Again,  there  is 
the  parallel  of  our  "Too  many  cooks"  in  the 
,  declaration  that  "Too  many  sailors  make  the  ship 
go  up  the  mountain."  And  even  in  these  latter 
days  of  plutocracy,  I  do  not  remember  to  have  seen 
anything  so  daring  as  the  Japanese  saw,  "Money 
makes  you  comfortable  even  in  hell."  This  should 
bring  solace  to  "the  criminal  multi-millionaires 
of  our  day." 

"He  that  praises  himself  is  a  kind  of  fool,"  is 
sound  wisdom  as  well  as  wit;  and  there  is  a  flash 
of  fancy  in  the  saying  that  an  obsequious  flunkey 
"dusts  the  whiskers"  of  the  great  man  he  is 
flattering.  Very  sententious  is  this  advice  to 
children,  from  a  book  more  than  a  thousand  years 
old,  "The  mouth  is  the  gate  of  misfortune;  the 
tongue  is  the  root  of  misfortune;  if  the  mouth  were 
like  the  nose,  a  man  would  have  no  trouble  till 
the  end  of  his  days."  And  one  might  offer  to 

28 


HUMOR  IN  THE  JAPANESE  STYLE 

Lord  Rosebery,  as  a  clinching  argument  for  the 
Peers,  this  saying  from  the  same  antique  book, 
"No  man  is  worthy  of  honor  by  reason  of  his  birth 
alone.  It  is  the  garnering  of  knowledge  that 
bringeth  wisdom  and  virtue." 

In  these  days  of  devil-cars,  one  can  find  a  very 
pointed  application  for  the  saying,  "To  see  the 
chariot  that  is  in  front  overturned  is  a  warning 
to  the  chariot  that  is  behind."  And  our  good 
neighbor  Governor  Wilson  might  well  adopt,  as  a 
warning  to  motorists  from  New  York  and  Pennsyl- 
vania, this  old  Japanese  saw,  "When  thou  Grossest 
a  frontier,  inquire  what  is  forbidden  within  it." 

About  the  time  when  Alfred  the  Great  got  a 
scolding  for  letting  the  old  lady's  cakes  get 
burned,  a  tale  was  written  in  Japan,  called  the 
"Narrative  of  the  Bamboo  -  cutter."  Therein 
stands  narrated  that  the  grim,  gentle  old  man  and 
his  gray  old  wife  were  childless  till  one  day,  while 
chopping  a  bamboo  in  the  woods,  he  discovered 
within  the  stem  a  fairy  maiden  bright  as  moon- 
beams. And  this  moon-white  maid  abode  with 
them  and  grew,  till  the  grim  old  man  and  his  gray 
old  wife  saw  that  she  was  of  age  to  marry. 

The  fame  of  the  moon-white  maid  had  gone 
abroad,  and  there  came  many  suitors  seeking  to 
wed  her.  But  the  maid  was  obdurate,  weeping  in 
her  chamber,  till  at  last  she  bethought  her  to  lay 
on  them  impossible  tasks.  To  one  of  her  suitors, 
who  was  a  lord  of  high  degree,  she  spoke  thus: 

"In  far-distant  Ind  was  born  our  Lord,  Buddha 
the  Compassionate.  In  the  days  of  his  discipline, 

29 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

he  begged  food  by  the  wayside,  seeking  alms  in  a 
poor  bowl  of  stone.  Let  my  lordly  suitor  bring 
me  the  bowl  as  a  marriage-gift!'7 

Full  of  wrath,  that  lord  returned  to  his  mansion, 
thinking  that  the  maid  had  flouted  him.  But  his 
anger  passed  and  the  image  of  the  maid  white  as 
moonbeams  remained,  so  that  his  heart  was  sick 
with  longing,  and  he  found  no  rest.  Then  he 
questioned  with  himself  whether  indeed  he  should 
go  forth  to  seek  the  Buddha's  bowl  in  far-off  Ind, 
so  that  he  might  win  his  heart's  beloved.  Yet 
he  bethought  him  not  less  of  the  perils  of  the  deep, 
and,  presently  pondering,  he  discerned  a  more 
excellent  way. 

Sending  word  to  the  grim  old  man  and  his 
moon-white  daughter  that  he  was  set  forth  for  Ind, 
he  betook  him  to  the  sea-coast,  and  then  turned 
back  secretly  by  night,  and  came  and  hid  himself 
until  many  days  were  passed.  Then  in  pilgrim 
garb  he  set  forth  to  a  famed  monastery  on  Mount 
Ohara.  Seeking  throughout  the  temple,  he  found 
at  last,  behind  the  altar  in  a  shrine,  a  stone  beg- 
ging-bowl, very  old  and  venerable,  thickly  coat- 
ed with  dust  and  black  with  age,  such  a  bowl  as 
might  in  very  truth  have  belonged  to  the  Lord 
Buddha. 

Wrapping  it  in  a  rich  brocade  and  binding  with 
it  a  spray  of  pink  cherry  blossoms  artfully  wrought 
of  paper,  he  set  forth,  richly  dight,  to  the  house  of 
the  old  bamboo-cutter  and  the  moon-white  maid. 
And  the  maid  was  full  of  awe  and  wonder  when 
she  saw  the  rareness  of  the  gift.  Unwrapping  the 

30 


HUMOR  IN  THE  JAPANESE  STYLE 

folds  of  silk  she  found  within  the  bowl  a  strip  of 
paper,  with  these  words  written  on  it: 

Oh  the  rock-riven  mountains, 
Oh  the  storm-driven  fountains; 
Oh  the  vigils  I've  kept, 
Bowls  of  tears  I  have  wept 
In  the  quest  of  the  bowl! 

The  moon-white  maid,  being  indeed  of  gentle 
heart,  was  herself  moved  to  tears  by  this  sad 
recital;  yet,  being  a  wise  maid  withal,  she  be- 
thought her:  "If  this  be  indeed  the  begging-bowl 
of  our  Lord  Buddha,  then  in  the  darkness  of  night 
will  it  shimmer  with  pearly  radiance!"  So  very 
reverently  she  bade  them  set  down  the  bowl  and 
darken  the  chamber.  And  they  did  so,  but  the 
bowl  shone  not,  were  it  even  the  faint  glimmer  of  a 
firefly!  When  .they  lit  the  paper  lanterns,  the 
courtier  had  fled,  and  the  moon-white  maiden  was 
glad  within  her  heart,  for  she  would  fain  flee  from 
wedlock.  Therefore,  smiling  to  herself,  she  wrapped 
the  bowl  again  in  the  brocade  of  silk,  and  sent  it 
to  the  lordly  suitor,  with  such  verses  as  these: 

Not  a  glint  of  light 
As  a  dew-drop  bright 

Lurked  within  the  bowl! 
Nay,  how  could  it  shine 
Hid  in  that  dark  shrine? 

The  courtly  man,  when  he  received  the  bowl 
and  read  the  verses,  strove  at  first  in  his  wrath  to 

break  the  bowl.    But  it  was  hard,  and  brake  not, 

31 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

therefore  he  cast  it  from  him.  Yet,  as  he  was  a 
learned  man  and  a  courtier  though  sick  at  heart, 
he  sent  to  the  moon-white  maid  such  verses  as 
these: 

At  thy  radiance,  maid! 
Did  the  bowl's  light  fade, 

Its  sheen  outshone! 
It  would  glow  with  light 
Were  thy  eyes  less  bright! 

But  the  maid  answered  him  not,  and  he  hied 
him  homeward,  full  of  sorrow  and  despite  and 
bitterly  blaming  the  heartless  maiden.  Not  more 
fortunate  was  a  prince  who  likewise  came  to  woo 
her,  for  of  him  she  asked  a  golden  branch  of  the 
tree  of  life.  He  too  fared  him  forth  to  the  sea- 
shore, taking  certain  warriors  of  choice  with  him. 
Boarding  a  vessel  bound  for  far  lands,  he  sent  these 
homeward,  and  they  departed  weeping.  But  when 
dark  night  had  come,  he  bade  the  shipmaster  turn 
the  prow  homeward,  and  so  came  secretly  to 
Kyoto.  There  he  had  contrived  a  certain  subtle 
and  crafty  deed,  for  he  was  a  politic  prince.  He 
built,  in  the  loneliness  of  the  forest,  a  secret  house 
set  about  with  triple  thorns,  so  that  none  might 
enter.  Thither  he  had  assembled  six  of  those  that 
wrought  in  silver  very  subtly,  and  had  laid  before 
them  silver  and  gems  and  gold,  bidding  them  pre- 
pare such  a  branch  as  might  grow  on  the  tree  of 
life. 

And  they  did  so.  And  when  the  bough  was 
made,  all  glistening  with  silver  and  gems,  after 
many  moons,  he  betook  him  again  stealthily  to 

32 


HUMOR  IN  THE  JAPANESE  STYLE 

the  sea-shore  and  aboard  a  boat,  whence  he  sent 
word  to  his  warriors  of  choice  that  he  was  come 
home  again;  and  they  met  him,  greatly  rejoiced 
at  the  prince's  coming. 

News  of  it  came  to  the  moon-white  maid,  and 
she  wept,  thinking  that  Fate  was  indeed  adverse, 
and  she  must  wed.  But  the  fame  of  the  bough 
went  abroad,  and  the  prince  came,  bearing  that 
glistening  treasure,  with  sandalwood  and  rich 
silks  wrapped  about  it.  And  with  his  warriors 
of  choice  he  came,  knocking  at  the  chamber  door. 
But  the  maid  hid  in  an  inner  chamber,  bitterly 
weeping.  The  old  grim  bamboo-cutter  rejoiced 
at  the  sight  of  the  prince,  for  he  was  indeed  a  most 
princely  suitor;  therefore,  bidding  the  prince  be  of 
good  heart,  he  himself  came  in  to  the  maid,  bearing 
the  bough,  and  with  it  verses  like  these: 

Through  perils  dire 
Of  flood  and  fire 

I  return  and  bring 
To  the  maiden's  whiteness 
This  bough  of  brightness! 

Reading  these  verses,  the  maiden  wept,  as  she 
well  might,  not  at  the  verses,  nor  at  the  perils 
they  depicted,  but  at  her  own  danger,  for  she 
would  fain  escape  the  sorrows  of  wedlock.  But 
the  old  man,  at  last  losing  patience  with  the  foolish- 
ness of  girls,  reproached  and  exhorted  her,  saying, 
"Is  not  this,  indeed,  the  very  bough  of  the  tree 
of  life,  glistening  with  jewels,  that  thou  didst 

bid  bring?    How  then  shalt  thou  not  wed  him, 

33 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

for  he  is,  indeed,  a  princely  suitor!  Has  he  not 
come  straight  from  the  shore,  and  from  the  ship, 
lingering  not  even  to  change  his  raiment  nor  to 
rub  off  the  stain  that  travel  and  distant  skies  have 
put  upon  him?  How  then,  O  maiden  daughter 
mine,  canst  thou  say  no  to  such  a  one?'7 

But  she,  indeed  pensive,  her  chin  resting  on 
her  palm  as  the  tears  slid  down  her  cheeks,  would 
not  make  answer  but  by  those  her  tears.  The 
prince  waited  impatiently  amid  his  warriors,  and 
the  old  man,  who,  indeed,  had  received  princely 
gifts,  exhorted  her  again,  saying: 

"Is  he  not  a  prince  of  princes,  O  my  daughter? 
And  is  not  this  the  branch  of  the  tree  of  life?" 

Then,  sighing  and  weeping,  she  replied  that  she 
had  thought  the  quest  hard  and  impossible,  yet 
the  prince  had  accomplished  it  and  brought  the 
silver  bough.  So  the  old  bamboo-cutter  was 
rejoiced,  and  brought  in  the  prince  that  he  might 
plead  for  himself  and  tell  the  tale  of  the  quest  of 
the  bough.  Therefore  the  prince  came,  and, 
deeply  sighing  at  the  sight  of  the  maiden  in  her 
whiteness,  began  thus  to  relate  the  quest: 

"In  the  month  of  pink  cherry  blossoms  we  set 
sail,  turning  the  bow  of  our  ship  to  the  wild,  whirl- 
ing welter  of  the  waves  on  the  strange,  wild  ocean 
of  the  sunrise.  But  its  dangers  were  naught  to  me, 
for  that  I  so  loved  this  maiden,  and  could  not 
live  without  her.  Storm-spirits  screamed  about 
us,  and  wide-eyed  hunger  haunted  us,  and  strange 
sickness  fell  upon  us  in  the  trough  of  the  welter- 
ing deep.  Then,  after  many  moons  had  waned,  we 

34 


HUMOR  IN  THE  JAPANESE  STYLE 

came  to  a  magical  mountain,  and  a  river  of  rain- 
bow water  flowed  over  a  sapphire  cliff.  There 
grew  the  tree  of  life,  and  thence  with  my  arm  of 
might  I  plucked  this  bough,  and  now  I  have 
brought  it,  to  lay  it  at  the  foot  of  my  beloved!" 

Then  indeed  was  heard  without  a  noise  of  cer- 
tain men  crying  and  shouting,  and  one  of  the  men 
came  forward  and  said: 

"The  chief  of  the  silversmith  makes  this  humble 
petition — namely,  that  he  and  his  fellows  have 
toiled  many  days  in  a  house  by  Kyoto,  making  a 
certain  silver  bough.  They  have  not  received 
their  wages.  Therefore  the  chief  of  the  silver- 
smiths begs  that  payment  be  not  delayed,  so  that 
they  may  buy  victuals  for  their  starving  families!" 

The  tears  on  the  cheek  of  that  moon-white 
maiden  dried  when  she  heard  it,  but  the  liver  of 
the  prince  melted  within  him  and  was  as  water, 
for  he  knew  that  his  guile  was  discovered,  and  he 
fled  away  into  the  night. 


IV 


THE  HUMOR  OF  INDIA 

Who  could  live,  who  could  breathe, 
If  the  heart  of  Being  were  not  Joy? 

— Taittiriya  Upanishad. 

I  HAD  a  Brahman  friend,  a  man  of  intuitive 
spirit,  of  good  birth  and  high  personal  distinc- 
tion. We  were  talking  of  American  literature,  and 
one  of  us  repeated  a  story  of  Artemus  Ward's,  an 
extravagant  bit  of  nonsense  concerning  the  Shak- 
ers. "Ah  yes,"  said  my  friend  the  Brahman: 
"it  is  very  amusing;  but  that  is  not  the  kind  of 
story  we  tell  each  other  under  the  banyan-trees, 
in  the  long  evenings  in  India!"  Then  he  went 
on  to  describe  a  humor  at  once  wise  and  courtly, 
mirthful  and  subtle,  where  no  mockery  obscured 
reverence,  where  the  note  of  humanity  was  never 
lost. 

Often  remembering  that  description,  I  have 
thought  that  nowhere,  perhaps,  in  the  age-long 
story  of  India  could  one  find  a  finer  example  of 
that  urbane,  courtly  humor  than  the  tale  of 
Damayanti's  "Maiden's  Choosing,"  whose  moral 
is  that  one  may  be  a  god  without  ceasing  to  be 

a  gentleman. 

36 


THE  HUMOR  OF  INDIA 

The  story  was  told  in  the  great  Indian  forest 
by  a  homeless  sage  to  the  elder  brother  of  that 
Arjuna  whom  Krishna's  teaching  made  im- 
mortal. Nala  is  the  hero,  who  is  to  win  the  hero- 
ine's hand  and  life-long  devotion.  Nala  the  stal- 
wart, a  masterful  horseman,  is  like  to  the  love-god 
in  beauty,  bright  as  the  twin  stars,  truthful,  but 
a  gambler.  He  ruled  over  the  Nishadas,  north- 
ward from  the  Vindhya  mountains.  Princess 
Damayanti,  the  King  of  Vidarbha's  daughter,  was 
a  pearl  of  maidens,  bright  as  the  summer  lightning, 
long-eyed  like  goddess  Fortune,  setting  athrob  the 
hearts  of  men  and  immortals. 

Praise  waited  ever  on  the  names  of  both,  Nala 
hearing  only  of  Damayanti,  Damayanti  only  of 
Nala.  Therefore  love,  not  at  first  sight,  but  out- 
stripping sight,  filled  the  heart  of  each.  Swans 
with  gold-decked  wings  were  their  messengers; 
their  love  grew  till  it  became  invincible.  Dama- 
yanti, no  longer  her  own,  was  altogether  Nala's, 
whom  she  had  never  beheld.  She  grew  thin 
and  pale,  full  of  imaginings  and  sighs;  love  so 
possessed  her  heart  that  rest  came  not  nigh  her, 
night  nor  day.  The  King  of  Vidarbha  saw  the 
signs  as  old  as  the  world,  knew  that  his  child 
should  be  wedded;  the  time  was  come  for  her 
Maiden's  Choosing.  He  sent  summons  to  the 
princes,  shepherds  of  nations.  The  princes  drew 
near  Vidarbha,  filling  the  world  with  the  sound 
of  their  chariots  and  elephants  and  horses;  mighty, 
adorned  with  garlands  and  jewels,  seeking  to  win 
the  pearl  of  the  world. 

37 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

The  gods,  the  immortals,  visiting  Indra,  their 
king,  god  Agni,  and  the  shepherds  of  the  world, 
heard  from  Narada  of  the  coming  Choosing. 
The  gods,  the  immortals,  said,  "Let  us  also  go!" 

King  Nala,  hearing  of  the  assembling  princes, 
went  forth  to  the  Maiden's  Choosing,  not  down- 
hearted. The  gods  saw  Nala,  as  he  journeyed, 
bright  as  the  sun;  even  the  gods  were  dismayed 
at  his  beauty. 

Coming  forth  from  the  white  of  the  sky,  the  gods, 
immortals,  spoke  to  Nala:  "Hail,  king  of  the 
Nishadas!  Thou  standest  ever  firm  in  truth. 
Help  us,  becoming  our  ambassador!" 

Nala,  assenting,  promised,  his  palms  joined  in 
reverence,  then  asked  who  they  might  be  who 
addressed  him,  and  what  message  he  should  carry. 
To  him  Indra,  mighty  one,  answered:  "I  am 
Indra;  this,  Agni,  the  fire-lord;  this,  Varuna, 
lord  of  the  waters;  fourth  is  Lord  Yama,  who 
brings  an  ending  to  mortals.  Hear  the  message: 
Go  thou  to  Damayanti,  saying  to  her  that  gods 
Indra,  Agni,  Varuna,  and  Yama,  best  of  im- 
mortals, are  coming  to  seek  her  in  wedlock.  One 
of  these  four  shall  she  choose  and  take  for  her 
husband!" 

Thus  Lord  Indra.  Nala  made  answer,  palms 
reverently  pressed  together:  "Ask  not  this  of 
me,  who  am  on  the  same  errand!  How  can  he 
who  has  lost  his  heart  to  a  maiden  ask  her  hand 
for  another?  Therefore,  gods,  spare  me  this 
embassage!" 

The   gods   answered:    "Thou   hast   promised; 

38 


THE  HUMOR  OF  INDIA 

shalt  thou  not  perform?  Go,  therefore,  king  of 
the  Nishadas!" 

Nala  withstood  them:  "How  can  I  enter,"  said 
he," the  well-guarded  gates?"  "Thou  shalt  enter!" 
said  Indra,  lord  of  immortals. 

So  Nala  went  to  the  Vidarbha  palace,  entering, 
by  Indra7 s  grace,  the  bower  of  Damayanti.  He 
saw  her  there  among  her  companions,  brighter 
than  the  moon's  radiance;  at  her  sweet  smile  his 
love  grew  greater.  But  he  held  love  in  check, 
keeping  faith  with  the  gods  as  their  ambassador. 

The  maidens,  seeing  him,  rose,  startled  by  his 
beauty;  shyly  they  praised  him  to  one  another, 
wondering  if  he  were  a  god  or  one  of  the  seraphs. 
Damayanti  first  found  words,  with  a  charming 
smile  addressing  Nala:  "Who  art  thou,  faultless 
of  form,  increasing  my  heart's  love,  that  art  come 
hither  as  a  god?  How  didst  thou  enter,  for  the 
palace  doors  are  well  guarded?" 

Nala  named  himself,  king  of  the  Nishadas; 
coming  now  as  the  gods'  messenger,  by  whose 
grace  he  had  entered :  Lord  Indra ;  Agni,  the 
fire-lord;  Yama,  lord  of  death;  Varuna,  lord  of 
the  waters.  These  sought  her  in  marriage,  he 
said;  one  she  should  choose  as  her  husband,  as 
her  heart  bade  her. 

At  the  naming  of  the  gods,  Damayanti  reve- 
rently bowed,  laughing  gently  as  she  answered, 
uThou  thyself  must  love  me,  King,  as  I  love  thee! 
What  can  I  do,  for  all  I  am  or  have  is  thine?" 

Nala,  faithful  in  his  embassy,  counseled  her  to 
choose  the  gods,  praising  Indra,  the  king,  whose 

4  39 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

scepter  is  Law,  Agni,  the  fire-lord,  Varuna,  arid 
Yama,  the  lord  of  death.  Damayanti's  eyes  were 
tear-dim  as  she  answered:  "The  gods  I  worship, 
but  I  would  wed  thee!  Let  all  come  to  the 
Choosing.  Thee  will  I  choose,  with  my  maiden 
garland!" 

Nala  returned  to  the  gods,  and  reported  his 
embassage:  "I  have  carried  your  message,  gods, 
to  Princess  Damayanti.  To  you  she  pays  rev- 
erence, but  would  wed  me!  Therefore,  let  all 
come  together  to  the  Choosing!" 

Came  the  day  of  the  Maiden's  Choosing.  The 
princes,  shepherds  of  nations,  thronged  the  arena, 
with  its  pillars  and  arch  of  gold,  splendid  as  lions 
on  the  mountains.  Their  garlands  were  fragrant, 
their  jewels  bright,  their  weapons  gleaming,  their 
faces  like  the  stars. 

Damayanti,  too,  entered  the  arena,  bearing  a 
garland,  stealing  the  eyes  and  hearts  of  the 
princes.  Their  names  and  titles  were  heralded 
before  her.  And  Damayanti,  beholding,  saw 
five  princes  alike  in  form,  with  no  whit  of  dif- 
ference between  them.  Among  them,  in  her  con- 
fusion, she  could  not  distinguish  Nala,  the  king. 
Whichever  she  looked  at,  that  one  she  thought 
was  Nala.  Then,  full  of  doubt,  perplexed,  she 
wondered:  "How  shall  I  know  the  gods?  How 
shall  I  know  Nala,  the  king?"  So  in  her  grief  she 
bethought  her  of  the  divine  signs  and  marks  of 
the  gods.  But  not  one  mark  could  she  discern 
as  the  five  stood  there  kingly  upon  the  sand. 

Then    Damayanti,    grieving,    knew    that    the 

40 


THE  HUMOR  OF  INDIA 

hour  had  come  to  appeal  to  the  gods  on  their 
honor.  So  she  prayed  to  the  gods,  with  palms 
reverently  joined,  telling  of  her  love  for  Nala,  of 
her  heart  that  was  all  his,  and  beseeching  the  gods 
to  help  her  with  discernment.  Damayanti  prayed, 
pitiful,  steadfast.  And  the  gods  listened,  wonder- 
ing at  her  firm  faith  and  love. 

As  Damayanti  prayed,  behold  the  gods  re- 
vealed, standing  there  in  their  divinity.  She 
beheld  them  sweatless,  steady-eyed,  their  gar- 
lands unfading,  shadowless,  not  touching  the 
earth.  But  he,  doubled  by  his  shadow,  his  gar- 
land faded,  stained  with  dust  and  sweat,  his  eye- 
lids tremulous,  his  feet  set  upon  the  earth.  So 
Damayanti,  beholding  the  gods  there,  and  the 
king  of  the  Nishadas  with  them,  chose  there 
Nala,  the  king,  shyly  touching  his  garment  and 
laying  her  bright  flower-wreath  on  his  shoulders. 
The  gods  blessed  them  with  gifts,  the  princes 
praised  them,  and  Nala  worshipfully  loved  Dama- 
yanti, who  had  chosen  him,  a  mortal,  rivaled  by  the 
immortals. 

Here,  it  seems  to  me,  is  a  bit  of  courtly  humor 
hard  to  equal.  It  would  not  be  easy  to  find,  among 
the  scriptures  of  the  world,  a  passage  which  so 
charmingly  depicts  the  gods  as  perfect  gentlemen, 
touched  with  love,  yet  ruled  by  chivalrous  honor. 
And  this  tale  of  Nala  and  his  princess  has  de- 
lighted India  ever  since  the  dim,  Vedic  days  of 
long  ago.  For  the  gods  in  this  story  are  Vedic 
gods,  not  the  later  divinities  of  the  thousand 
sects. 

41 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

About  the  Buddha's  time,  five  and  twenty 
centuries  ago,  there  arose  in  western  India  a  new 
faith,  or  a  revival  of  faith,  closely  akin  to  Buddhism 
yet  with  much  of  the  Hindu  love  of  caste  and 
ceremony,  which  the  Buddha  laid  aside.  This 
was  the  cult  of  the  Jainas,  followers  of  Mahavira. 
The  Jainas,  too,  have  their  version  of  the  tale  of 
Nala  and  Damayanti,  and  they  have  added,  or 
preserved,  certain  touches  of  humor  not  found  in 
the  epic  version  I  have  summarized. 

Damayanti,  in  the  Jaina  story,  comes  to  the 
Maiden's  Choosing  with  her  old  nurse,  who, 
perhaps  with  bribed  enthusiasm,  praises  the  vari- 
ous suitors  in  the  arena.  Damayanti  hits  off  the 
suitors,  very  much  as  Portia  was  to  criticize  yet 
other  suitors,  in  her  boudoir  talk  with  her  maid. 
The  nurse  bade  Damayanti  admire  the  lord  of 
Benares,  King  Bala,  of  mighty  arm:  "If  thou 
wouldst  see  the  River  Ganges  with  its  tossing 
waves,  choose  him!" 

But  Damayanti  answered:  "Good  nurse,  the 
people  of  Benares  have  the  bad  habit  of  cheating 
their  neighbors;  therefore  my  heart  likes  him  not!" 

The  nurse  then  commends  King  Lion,  the  lord 
of  Kunkuna:  "In  the  hot  season,  thou  wilt 
enjoy  thyself  in  the  cool  plantain  gardens!" 

"The  people  of  Kunkuna,"  answered  Dama- 
yanti, "grow  angry  without  reason.  I  could  not 
please  him  at  all  times;  therefore  name  another 
king!" 

"There  is  King  Mahendra,"  said  the  nurse,  "of 
the  vale  of  Kashmir,  where  the  saffron  grows!" 

42 


THE  HUMOR  OF  INDIA 

"My  body,"  said  Damayanti,  "shrinks  from 
so  much  snow!'7 

The  nurse  then  bade  her  choose  King  Jayakosha; 
but  Damayanti  seemed  not  to  hear,  busied  with 
her  garland. 

Then  the  nurse  bade  her  throw  the  garland 
round  the  neck  of  King  Jaya,  the  lord  of  Kalinga 
in  the  south,  whose  sword  eclipsed  the  moon- 
light of  his  foes. 

But  Damayanti  answered:  "My  respects  to 
him,  who  is  as  old  as  my  father!" 

The  nurse  commended  the  lord  of  Gaura,  like 
the  sun  in  the  heavens,  whose  army  of  elephants, 
roaring,  shook  the  world. 

"Mother,"  said  Damayanti,  "the  color  of  the 
man  is  black  and  horrible  as  his  elephants.  Let 
us  pass  quickly  on!" 

So  they  came  to  the  lord  of  Ujjayini.  "If 
thou  wouldst  play  among  the  trees  growing  by  the 
river  Sipra,  choose  him!" 

"I  am  weary,"  said  Damayanti,  "with  so 
much  walking  round  the  arena!" 

Then  the  nurse  pointed  out  King  Nala,  lord  of 
the  Nishadas,  like  the  god  of  Love  in  beauty. 
And  Damayanti,  without  speaking,  threw  the 
garland  of  choice  round  Nala's  neck. 

Here  is  more  of  the  same  rich,  urbane,  somewhat 
stately  humor.  But  the  Jaina  tale  is  rather 
prolix  and  tends  to  follow  the  immemorial  plan 
of  the  nest  of  boxes,  a  tale  within  a  tale,  like  the 
famous  stories  of  Bagdad.  Prolix,  indeed,  are 
many  of  the  Indian  stories;  but  for  fine  brevity 

43 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

and  precision,  I  think  the  following  little  Jaina 
parable  is  hard  to  beat: 

"In  the  city  of  Kunala,"  says  the  narrator, 
"two  recluses,  seated  in  the  statute  posture,  were 
meditating,  with  breathing  restrained.  It  was 
the  season  of  the  rains.  Everywhere  the  clouds 
were  pouring.  Some  herdsmen  blamed  the  holy 
men,  saying,  '  These  recluses  will  stop  the 
rain!'  The  recluses,  hearing  it,  were  furious. 
The  first  recluse  said,  'Rain,  cloud,  on  Kunala!' 
The  second  added,  'For  full  fifteen  days!'  The 
first  continued,  'With  raindrops  like  clubs!'  The 
second  added,  'Night  and  day!'  Through  the 
curse  of  the  two  recluses,  the  cloud  rained  for 
fifteen  days,  and  the  city  was  flooded.  The 
recluses  also  were  drowned  and  went  to  hell. 
Therefore  wrath  is  to  be  avoided!" 

One  hardly  associates  humor  with  Buddhism. 
Indeed,  it  may  truly  be  said  that  most  of  the 
books  and  teachings  of  Buddhism  are  pitched  in  a 
minor  key,  somewhat  "sicklied  o'er  with  the  pale 
cast  of  thought."  Yet  some  of  the  most  rollicking 
and  boisterous  Indian  stories  found  their  way,  in 
company  with  Buddhism,  to  lofty  Tibet,  whence 
they  have  come  back  to  us. 

One  of  these  is  concerned  with  young  Mahau- 
shadha,  the  proverbial  "Smart  Aleck"  of  Indian 
tales,  and  one  can  discern  in  him,  agreeably  to  the 
spirit  of  the  Buddhist  tales,  a  former  incarnation 
of  Tom  Sawyer. 

This  precocious  boy  was  sent  by  King  Janaka 
to  a  hill  village,  to  be  brought  up  in  seclusion; 

44 


THE  HUMOR  OF  INDIA 

and  the  time  came  when  the  king  wished  to  test  the 
boy's  growing  wit.  Therefore  he  sent  to  the 
village  head-man  an  order  for  a  rope  of  sand,  a 
hundred  ells  long.  So  far  there  is  nothing  novel 
about  the  story;  but  I  think  young  Mahaushadha's 
answer  is  all  his  own.  Mahaushadha  sent  this 
answer  to  the  king:  "O  King!  The  people  of 
this  hill  village  are  slow-witted  and  stupid! 
Therefore,  may  it  please  your  Majesty  to  send  one 
ell  of  that  kind  of  rope  as  a  pattern,  and  we  will 
twine  a  hundred  ells,  or  a  thousand  like  it,  to 
send  to  the  king!'7 

The  king,  well  pleased,  devised  another  test. 
He  sent  to  the  hill  village  an  order  for  some  rice, 
not  crushed  with  a  pestle,  yet  not  uncrushed, 
cooked  neither  in  the  house  nor  out  of  the  house, 
neither  with  fire  nor  without  fire,  which  was  to  be 
sent  from  him  neither  along  the  road  nor  away 
from  the  road,  neither  by  daylight  nor  in  the 
shade,  brought  neither  by  a  woman  nor  a  man, 
by  one  not  riding  nor  yet  on  foot. 

Mahaushadha  solved  all  these  puzzles.  Then 
the  king  ordered  a  park  to  be  sent  him,  with 
gardens,  fruit-trees,  and  tanks.  Mahaushadha, 
repeating  himself,  asked  the  king  to  send  one  of 
his  parks  as  a  pattern,  since  no  one  in  the  moun- 
tains knew  anything  about  parks. 

Then  came  a  final  test,  and  here  the  story-teller 
lets  himself  go.  The  king  sent  a  messenger  to  the 
hill  village  with  a  mule,  and  with  orders  to  Purna, 
the  father  of  Mahaushadha,  to  keep  watch  over  it 
without  tying  it  up,  and  to  feed  it  without  placing 

45 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

it  under  a  roof.  The  messenger  brought  the  mule 
to  Purna,  and  warned  him  that  he  would  forfeit 
his  life  and  limbs  if  the  mule  escaped.  When 
Purna  heard  it,  he  was  terrified,  but  Mahaushadha 
cheered  him  up,  saying  that  he  would  see  him 
through.  So  he  ordered  that  by  day  the  mule 
should  graze  at  its  free  will,  but  by  night  it  should 
be  guarded  by  twenty  men,  five  of  whom  should 
guard  it  through  the  first  night-watch,  five  through 
the  second,  and  so  on  to  the  fourth.  One  should 
sit  on  its  back,  the  other  four  should  each  hold  a 
leg  of  the  mule.  So  it  would  be  watched  without 
being  tied  up,  and  fed  without  being  placed  under 
a  roof. 

Time  passed.  Janaka,  the  king,  bethought  him 
to  send  a  messenger  to  see  how  it  fared  with  the 
mule.  The  messenger  made  his  report,  and  the 
king  understood  that  the  mule  could  never  escape 
while  thus  guarded.  So  the  king  thought  out  a 
plan  and  sent  for  one  of  the  men,  he  who  rode  on 
the  mule's  back,  and  bade  him  ride  off  with  the 
mule  while  the  others  were  asleep. 

On  the  morrow  Purna  saw  that  the  mule  was 
gone,  and  knew  that  he  had  forfeited  life  and 
limbs.  Mahaushadha  saw  Puma's  misery,  and 
bethought  him  that  hitherto  he  had  found  a  way 
of  escape,  but  now  there  was  none.  He  said 
nothing,  though  greatly  alarmed,  but  set  his  wits 
to  work  on  a  plan. 

Mahaushadha  then  told  his  father,  Purna,  that 
there  was  but  one  way,  and  that  it  could  be  tried 
only  if  Purna  could  bear  mockery.  The  old  man 


THE  HUMOR  OF  INDIA 

thought  mockery  more  endurable  than  death,  and 
so  consented.  Then  Mahaushadha  clipped  his 
father's  hair  in  seven  strips  and  daubed  his  head 
with  paint,  red,  black,  brown,  and  white.  Then 
he  and  his  father  mounted  an  ass,  and  hied  them 
to  the  capital  of  King  Janaka.  Report  outran 
them,  and  the  king  and  his  ministers  came  forth 
to  see  if  the  fame  of  them  were  true.  The  ministers 
upraided  him,  saying:  "  Wherefore  is  Mahaushadha 
praised  for  his  judgment,  intelligence,  and  wisdom? 
For  how  unseemly  is  his  action!" 

The  king  asked  Mahaushadha  why  he  had  thus 
dishonored  his  father.  But  Mahaushadha  re- 
plied: "I  have  not  dishonored  him,  but  honored 
him.  As  I  stand  much  higher  than  my  father 
by  my  great  wisdom,  this  deed  of  mine  confers 
honor  upon  him!" 

The  king,  scandalized,  said,  "Art  thou  better, 
or  thy  father?" 

Mahaushadha  answered:  "Assuredly,  I  am 
better;  my  father  is  worse!" 

The  king  rebuked  him,  saying:  "Never  had  I 
seen  or  heard  that  the  son  is  better  than  the 
father.  Through  the  father,  the  son  receives  his 
name,  while  the  mother  feeds  and  rears  him. 
The  father  is,  therefore,  altogether  the  better  of 
the  two!" 

The  ministers  supported  the  saying  of  the  king, 
and  affirmed  that  it  was  true.  Then  Mahau- 
shadha, falling  at  the  king's  feet,  said:  "O 
King,  this  being  so,  the  father  being  always  better 
than  the  son,  do  thou,  instead  of  the  mule  which 

47 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

is  gone,  accept  his  father,  this  ass,  who  is  in  all 
ways  his  superior?' ' 

The  climax  is  almost  as  much  of  a  surprise  to 
the  reader  as  it  must  have  been  to  King  Janaka 
and  his  ministers  in  the  days  of  long  ago.  One 
finds  in  old  Purna,  with  his  painted  pate,  a  kind 
of  foreshadowing  of  the  Royal  Nonesuch,  which 
fetched  the  Arkinsaw  lunkheads,  in  the  days  of 
Huckleberry  Finn. 

There  are  many  caustic  things  about  women  in 
the  Hindu  books,  as  bitter,  some  of  them,  as  the 
Proverbs  of  Solomon.  I  think  the  truth  is  that 
these  uxorious  Orientals,  feeling  themselves  all 
too  weak  and  prone  to  be  beguiled,  took  their 
revenge  on  women  by  calling  them  the  root  of  all 
evil. 

The  best  of  the  Indian  proverbs  is  this: 

"Two  things  you  see  once  in  a  lifetime:  a  per- 
fectly straight  cocoanut-tree,  and  a  woman  who 
does  not  want  the  last  word." 

I  find  also  the  prototype  of  that  wicked  French 
saying,  "Man  is  the  tow,  woman  the  flame;  the 
devil  comes  and  blows!7'  The  Sanskrit  proverb 
is  practically  the  same: 

"Woman  is,  as  it  were,  a  jar  of  clarified  butter, 
and  man  is  like  a  lighted  coal.  Therefore,  it  is 
wise  to  keep  the  jar  and  the  fire  in  different 
corners." 

But  all  this  is  wit  rather  than  humor,  while  in 
humor  of  the  true  kind  India  is  exceedingly  rich. 
And  it  is  curious  and  characteristic  that  the  best 
of  this  humor  is  interwoven  with  divine  worship 

48 


THE  HUMOR  OF  INDIA 

or  teaching  concerning  holy  things.  There  is, 
of  course,  that  famous  hymn  in  the  Veda,  where 
the  Brahmans  uttering  then-  prayers  are  likened 
to  frogs  croaking  in  a  pond  when  the  rains  begin: 

"  After  lying  still  for  a  year,  these  rite-fulfilling 
Brahmans,  the  frogs,  have  uttered  their  voices, 
inspired  by  the  rain-god!"  and  so  on.  And  in  the 
like  vein  is  the  Upanishad,  which  compares  these 
self-same  Brahmans,  who  circle  round  the  holy 
fire,  each  holding  the  long  white  robe  of  him  who 
walks  before  him,  to  a  row  of  white  puppies  run- 
ning round,  each  holding  in  his  mouth  his  predeces- 
sor's tail.  Surely  this  is  slighted  majesty. 

But  the  most  splendid  instance  of  a  humor, 
seemingly  sacrilegious  yet  wholly  reverent,  is  that 
passage  in  the  Bhagavad  Gita,  in  the  great 
transfiguration,  where  the  warrior  Krishna  has 
flamed  out,  before  awe-struck  Arjuna,  as  the  World- 
soul,  the  Ancient  of  Days.  Arjuna's  spirit  is 
burdened  with  awkward  memories  of  former 
familiarities.  He  has,  as  it  were,  clapped  the 
World-soul  on  the  back.  He  feels  he  must  apolo- 
gize. Therefore  he  says,  in  effect:  " August  one, 
high  Divinity!  If,  all  unknowing,  I  have  taken 
liberties,  at  the  banquet  or  in  the  chase,  nudging 
thee,  who  art  the  World-soul,  or  calling  thee  by 
thy  first  name,  be  not  offended,  august  one,  let 
it  be  pardoned  to  me,  who  sinned  in  ignorance !" 

And  the  famed  scripture  loses  nothing  by  this 
portentous  pleasantry. 

A  fine  example  of  this  reverent  playing  with 
high  and  lofty  matters  is  the  Tale  of  a  Tiger,  in 

49 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

dear  old  Hitopadesha,  where  the  striped  marauder 
again  and  again  quotes  the  Bhagavad  Gita  itself. 
Thus  runs  the  tale: 

"Once  upon  a  time,"  quoth  the  King  of  the 
Pigeons,  "as  I  passed  through  the  Deckan  forest,  I 
beheld:  An  old  tiger,  who  had  taken  a  bath,  cov- 
ering his  shining  claws  with  grass,  spoke  thus: 

' ' '  Hail,  wayfarers,  hail !  Let  this  golden  bracelet 
be  accepted!' 

"Thereupon  a  wayfarer,  led  on  by  greed,  spoke 
thus: 

"  'This  also  befalls  through  Heaven's  grace;  yet, 
in  times  of  doubt  as  to  one's  aim,  it  is  not  right  to 
hurry.  For  it  is  written: 

'Even  the  wished  from  the  unwished  receiving, 
The  end  and  outcome  is  not  always  fair; 
Where  there  is  poison  craftily  admixed, 
Even  the  heavenly  nectar  makes  for  death! 

"  'Yet  in  all  gaining  of  wealth,  there  is  cause  for 
doubt.  As  it  is  written: 

'Till  he  overcomes  his  doubts,  no  man 

Attains  to  wealth. 

Overcoming  doubt,  he  may  attain, — 
If  he  survives! 

"  'Thus  far,  I  consider  the  matter."  He  says 
aloud : 

"  'Where  is  your  bracelet?' 

"The  tiger,  pushing  his  shining  claws  forward, 
shows  them. 

50 


THE  HUMOR  OF  INDIA 

"The  wayfarer  said: 

"'How  can  I  have  confidence  in  thee?' 

"The  tiger  said: 

"'Now  I,  even  I,  practise  ablutions  and  am  a 
giver;  I  am  old,  and  have  lost  my  nails  and  teeth; 
how  shall  not  confidence  be  placed  in  me?  As  it 
is  written: 

'Sacrifice,  study,  penance,  gifts, 
Truth,  firmness,  patience,  lack  of  lust; 
This  is  the  Way,  long  handed  down, 
The  Noble  Eightfold  Path  of  Right. 

'The  first  four  Virtues  of  the  Path 
The  hypocrite  may  practise  too; 
The  last  four  Virtues  ever  dwell 
In  the  Magnanimous  alone. 

"  'And  such  is  my  freedom  from  greed,  that  I 
am  willing  to  give  a  golden  bracelet,  that  is  even 
now  in  my  paw,  to  any  one  at  all,  even  to  thee, 
wayfarer.  All  the  same,  the  popular  saying — to 
wit,  "Tiger  eats  Man," — is  hard  to  overcome. 
As  it  is  written: 

'The  world,  that  ever  follows  where  'tis  led, 
May  take  as  its  instructor  in  right  life 
A  dame  of  weakest  reputation, — or 
Even  a  Brahman  who  has  killed  a  cow! 

"  '  For  I  too  have  read  the  holy  books.   Hearken ! 

'As  thou  dost  love  the  life  of  thine  own  self, 
All  other  beings  love  their  own  lives  too; 
By  self-similitude,  the  perfect  Wise 
Show  to  all  beings  pity  equally. 
51 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

"  'And  again: 

'Ever  in  all  refusing  and  all  giving, 
In  pleasure,  pain;  in  what  he  loves  or  hates, 
By  self-similitude  a  man  should  act, 
And  follow  thus  the  perfect  Rule  of  Right. 

"  'Again  it  is  written: 

'Oh,  son  of  Kunti,  succor  well  the  poor! 
Give  not  thy  wealth  to  one  already  rich! 
They  that  are  sick  alone  need  healing  herbs; 
What  use  are  healing  herbs  to  one  in  health? 

"  'And  again: 

'What  gift  is  given,  thinking  "one  should  give," 
To  him  who  cannot  render  it  again, 
At  the  right  place  and  time,  to  the  right  man, 
Such  is  a  gift  of  Goodness.    This  they  know. 

"  'Therefore,  after  bathing  here  in  the  lake,  ac- 
cept this  shining  golden  bracelet!' 

"Thereupon  the  Wayfarer,  as  he  enters  into  the 
lake,  sinking  down  in  the  deep  mud,  is  unable 
to  escape. 

"'I,'  said  the  Tiger,  'will  come  and  lift  thee 
up!' 

"Thus  declaring,  and  by  little  and  by  little 
approaching,  the  Tiger  held  the  Wayfarer  in  his 
claws.  The  Wayfarer  meditated: 

"°Tis  not  enough  to  say:    He  reads  the  holy  Law! 
And  studies  well  the  Vedas;  if  his  heart  be  bad, 
His  evil  nature  will  come  out  at  last, 
As  surely  as,  by  nature,  milk  is  sweet! 
52 


THE  HUMOR  OF  INDIA 

"'For: 

1  Whose  senses  and  whose  heart  are  uncontrolled 
Is  like  the  bathing  of  an  elephant; 
And  like  adornments  to  an  ugly  face, 
A  useless  load  is  Wisdom  without  Works. 

"  'This  was  not  wisely  done  by  me,  that  I  put 
confidence  in  one  whose  very  soul  is  murder!  As 
it  is  written: 

'Of  every  one,  the  inborn  Nature  shows, 
In  trial,  and  not  other  qualities. 
Ever  outstripping  other  qualities, 
The  inborn  nature  triumphs  at  their  head!' 

"Thus  meditating,  verily,  he  by  the  Tiger  was 
slain  and  consumed." 

Here  again  we  have  that  reverent  playing  with 
holy  things,  which  is  so  distinctive  of  the  humor 
of  India.  It  has  been  well  and  truly  said  that 
the  Hindu  lives  religiously,  eats  religiously,  sleeps 
religiously,  and  dies  religiously.  So  full  of  reve- 
rence is  he  that  he  pays  devotion  even  to  symbols, 
carved  of  wood  and  stone,  which  render  visible 
to  him  the  unseen  invisible  things;  and  this  reve- 
rence of  his  we  misname  idolatry. 

It  is  at  once  singular  and  in  a  sense  deeply  right 
and  fitting  that  this  same  Hindu,  whose  every 
moment  is  full  of  the  intuition  and  pressure  of 
divine  things,  should  be  the  one  among  all  the 
peoples  and  faiths  to  wreath  the  gods  in  garlands 
of  humor.  Perhaps  this  light  and  joyous  treat- 

53 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

ment  of  holy  things — a  treatment  consistent  with 
perfect  reverence — is  part  of  the  contribution 
which  the  mind  of  India  has  to  offer  to  the  world. 
Perhaps  its  true  cause  is  the  recognition,  so  finely 
expressed  in  the  Upanishad  verse  which  I  have 
taken  as  the  text  of  this  essay:  that  the  heart  of 
being  is  Joy;  and  it  is  something  of  this  joy  and 
cheerfulness,  breaking  through,  even  in  the  con- 
sideration of  the  holiest  things,  which  gives  such  a 
distinctive  quality  to  the  humor  of  India. 

I  have  one  more  story,  again  centering  in  that 
ancient  city  of  Ujjayini  among  the  Mahratta  hills, 
whose  prince  was  among  the  suitors  of  Damayanti, 
which  also  makes  gentle  sport  of  the  people  of 
heaven. 

The  story  says  that,  in  the  city  of  Ujjayini, 
there  dwelt  a  gambler,  a  ruffian — the  Terror,  by 
name.  He  always  lost,  but  the  others,  who  won, 
gave  him  a  few  cowrie  shells,  that  he  might  con- 
tinue in  the  game. 

Being  destitute,  the  Terror  could  buy  only  a 
little  wheat-flour  in  the  evening;  and,  going  to  the 
Temple  of  Death  outside  the  city,  he  stole  palm- 
oil  from  the  temple  lamps  to  knead  his  flour,  and 
cooked  him  a  cake  on  the  funeral  pyre;  then,  resting 
his  head  on  the  knee  of  the  image  of  Death,  he 
drowsed  and  snored  the  night  away. 

One  night,  as  he  slept  thus,  dissolute,  uncaring, 
he  suddenly  awoke.  And  behold!  the  Mothers, 
whose  images  were  ranged  along  the  temple,  were 
watching  him.  The  Terror  bethought  him : ' '  Were 
it  not  well  to  have  a  game  with  them?  Haply  I 

54 


THE  HUMOR  OF  INDIA 

may  win  great  wealth!"  So  he  challenged  the 
Mothers  to  a  game,  saying:  "What  ho!  ye 
Divinities!  Come  and  play  a  game  with  me!" 
And  it  is  the  law  among  gamblers  that  he  who 
refuses  not  accepts;  so  he  began  to  play. 

Being  well  skilled,  he  won  much  gold  from  them, 
and  at  the  end  of  the  game  he  said:  "What 
ho!  Divinities!  As  ye  have  lost  to  me,  come,  pay 
up  your  losses!"  But  they  made  no  reply.  Then 
the  Terror  cried  out:  "This  is  the  old  gambler's 
trick,  who,  when  he  has  lost,  makes  himself 
rigid,  feigning  a  swoon,  so  that  he  may  not  pay! 
But  ye  cannot  escape  me  thus!  If  ye  pay  not, 
and  that  quickly,  behold  I  will  take  a  saw,  and 
saw  your  limbs  asunder;  for  my  saw  is  as  sharp  as 
the  teeth  of  this  fellow,  Death,  and  I  care  for 
naught!" 

Fiercely  he  ran  toward  them;  but  they,  being 
terrified,  paid  him  their  losses  from  the  offerings 
which  had  been  laid  on  their  altars.  So,  re- 
plenished with  much  gold,  he  returned  to  the 
gambling  -  house  and  played  again  lustily,  but 
always  lost. 

Returning  again  to  the  temple,  making  him  a 
cake  with  flour  and  stolen  temple  oil,  and  grilling 
it  on  the  pyre,  he  once  more  challenged  the 
deities,  and  once  more  won  much  gold,  the 
divinities  paying  as  before.  But  the  Mothers  and 
the  other  divinities,  seeing  their  offerings  dwin- 
dling, were  discouraged,  and  took  counsel  among 
themselves  as  to  what  they  should  do.  Then  one 
of  the  goddesses  said:  "Is  there  not  a  rule 

5  55 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

among  gamblers  that  if  one  shall  say,  'I  pass!' 
such  a  one  may  not  be  forced  to  play?  This  is, 
indeed,  the  rule;  therefore  let  us  do  so  and  elude 
this  Terror."  And  the  divinities  all  assented, 
clapping  their  hands  in  joy. 

So  when  the  Terror  had  baked  his  grimly  cake 
upon  the  coals  of  the  pyre,  and  had  eaten  it  with 
relish,  he,  as  before,  proposed  to  them  a  game. 
But  the  goddess  who  had  made  the  proposal 
said,  "I  pass!"  and  the  others,  echoing,  said, 
"We  also  pass!" 

But  the  Terror,  in  no  wise  disconcerted,  turned 
to  Lord  Death  himself,  and  challenged  him  to  a 
game.  Lord  Death,  seeing  that  the  man  was 
bold  and  ruffianly,  was  apprehensive,  and  made 
answer,  "I  also  pass!" 

The  Terror,  seeing  himself  thus  baffled,  had 
recourse  to  guile.  Laying  hold  of  the  feet  of 
Lord  Death  and  bowing  low,  he  said: 

"O  thou  of  matted  locks,  adorned  only  with  a 
skull,  and  smeared  with  ashes,  am  I  not  in  the 
same  case  with  thee?  As  thou  drawest  near  to  the 
pyre  for  thy  food,  so  I!  As  thou  respectest 
neither  high  nor  low,  so  I!  As  thou  bringest 
loss,  so  I!  Therefore  be  thou  propitious  to  me!" 

Lord  Death,  well  pleased,  made  answer  to  him: 
"O  Terror!  As  thou  art  well  pleasing  to  me,  so 
will  I  befriend  thee!  Listen,  therefore,  to  my 
word !  In  the  temple  garden  there  is  a  sacred  pool 
adorned  with  lotuses,  blue,  white,  and  red.  Thither, 
by  moonlight,  come  heavenly  nymphs  to  bathe, 
laying  aside  their  glistening  robes  and  disporting 

56 


THE  HUMOR  OF  INDIA 

them  in  the  water.  Do  thou,  therefore,  go  thither : 
and  when  the  heavenly  nymphs  doff  their  bright 
robes  and  enter  the  pool  adorned  with  lotuses,  do 
thou  seize  their  robes!  And  when  they  demand 
them  back  of  thee,  thou  shalt  say:  ' Behold,  I 
will  in  no  wise  render  them  up,  unless  ye  pay 
ransom!'  And  as  ransom  thou  shalt  ask  the 
heavenly  nymph  named  Crescent,  because  she 
wears  a  silver  crescent  on  her  brow." 

The  Terror  did  so,  for  he  feared  naught  and  was 
a  ruffian.  And  the  nymphs,  unwilling  to  linger 
in  the  water  lest  dawn  should  come  upon  them, 
delivered  up  to  him  the  nymph  named  Crescent. 
For  the  lord  of  paradise  had  laid  this  punishment 
upon  her,  that  she  should  wed  a  mortal,  because 
she  had  spoken  carelessly  of  paradise,  saying  that 
the  joys  of  mortal  men  were  better  far. 

Crescent,  being  taken  by  that  Terror,  straight- 
way loved  him,  for  that  he  was  bold  and  ruffianly 
and  regarded  naught,  whether  great  or  small. 
So  they  two  dwelt  in  happiness.  And  on  a  day 
the  nymph  said  to  him:  "My  lord  Terror, 
this  day  they  are  making  merry  in  the  celestial 
realm,  celebrating  a  feast.  I,  too,  must  be  there 
to  wait  upon  the  king  of  the  immortals.  Do  thou, 
therefore,  abide  here  until  my  return." 

But  the  Terror  said:  "Far  from  it!  For  I 
also  will  go  with  thee."  For  he  was  ruffianly 
and  feared  naught.  So  she  hid  him,  and  carried 
him  with  her  to  the  celestial  abode.  And  there, 
when  one  of  the  actors  of  the  gods  danced  ill, 
the  Terror  waxed  wroth  at  him,  and,  crying  out 

57 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

on  him  for  his  ill  acting,  smote  him  over  the  head 
with  a  club.  So  the  gods  discovered  his  presence 
and  drove  him  forth.  And  as  punishment  for 
Crescent,  who  had  brought  him  thither,  they  laid 
this  curse  upon  her:  That  she  should  be  inclosed 
in  the  pillar  of  a  new-built  temple  which  the 
King  of  Ujjayini  had  built,  and  that  she  should 
abide  there  until  the  temple  came  down  in 
ruins. 

So  it  befell,  for  it  was  the  command  of  the  gods. 
She,  very  sad,  for  that  she  was  parted  from  her 
Terror,  whom  she  so  dearly  loved,  wailed  there, 
within  the  temple  pillar.  But  the  Terror  said: 
" Behold!  It  is  naught!  For  I  will  have  re- 
course to  guile,  and  outdo  the  gods!"  And  so  he 
bethought  him,  for  he  regarded  naught. 

So,  donning  the  dress  of  a  religious  devotee 
with  matted  locks  and  a  dappled  fawn-skin,  he 
went  into  the  city  of  the  king.  There,  having 
taken  with  him  the  jewels  that  had  belonged  to 
his  wife  Crescent,  he  divided  them  in  five  earthen 
pots,  and  one  earthen  pot  he  buried  at  each  side  of 
the  city,  north,  south,  east,  and  west,  and  one  pot 
he  buried  in  the  center  of  the  market-place. 

Then,  building  him  a  hut  of  bark,  as  devotees 
are  wont,  he  dwelt  by  the  river-bank,  feigning 
himself  a  saint,  for  he  feared  naught,  neither  re- 
garded high  nor  low.  And  the  fame  of  his  de- 
votion went  abroad,  and  the  King  of  Ujjayini 
himself  sought  him  out  and  visited  him.  And  as 
the  king  in  his  splendor  stood  there  by  the  bark 
hut  of  the  false  devotee,  it  happened  that  a  she- 

58 


THE  HUMOR  OP  INDIA 

jackal  howled  in  the  forest,  calling  to  her  mate 
that  she  had  found  a  meal. 

When  the  she-jackal  howled  with  long  and 
wailful  cry,  the  Terror  pricked  his  ears,  his  head 
aslant  as  one  who  listens;  and  then  slowly  he 
began  to  smile.  When  the  she-jackal  howled 
again,  the  Terror  muttered,  "Well,  let  it  remain 
there !" 

The  King  of  Uj  jayini,  burning  to  know  the  mean- 
ing of  it,  asked  him  what  it  was.  But  the  Terror 
would  not  tell.  Then,  being  importuned  by  the 
king,  as  though  unwilling  he  at  last  made  answer : 

"Hear!  O  King,  by  the  force  of  my  ascetic 
devotion,  I  know  all  secrets,  even  the  speech  of 
birds  and  beasts!  And  this  she-jackal  that  howled 
in  the  forest  was  saying  something  of  a  treasure  of 
jewels.  But  I  answered,  'Let  it  there  remain.' ' 

But  the  king  was  the  more  importunate,  and  at 
last  the  Terror,  as  though  reluctantly  yielding, 
answered:  "Be  it  according  to  the  king's  com- 
mand. Behold,  the  treasure  is  on  the  north  side 
of  the  city,  under  a  clump  of  bamboos!"  But 
this  he  said  through  guile,  himself  having  there 
bestowed  the  treasure  of  jewels.  But  the  King  of 
Uj  jayini,  unknowing  of  this,  was  astonished,  and 
went,  and  sought,  and  took  the  treasure  and 
brought  it  to  his  palace.  And  the  renown  of  the 
devotee  went  abroad. 

It  was  not  long  till  the  king  came  again  to  the 
bark  hut  of  that  false  devotee;  and  as  once  more 
the  she-jackal  howled,  the  Terror  would  once 
more  say:  "Nay;  let  it  remain!"  But  when  the 

59 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

king  importuned  him,  he  told  of  a  treasure  buried  to 
the  east  of  the  city,  and  so  to  the  west,  and  so  to 
the  south,  and  so  in  the  center  of  the  market-place. 

On  the  day  of  the  great  festival,  that  false 
devotee  went  to  the  temple,  where  his  loved  wife 
Crescent  was,  still  imprisoned  in  the  pillar  for  her 
sin  in  taking  him  secretly  to  the  heavenly  abode. 
And  the  king  in  his  splendor  was  there  with  all 
his  retinue.  When  Crescent,  who  was,  as  it  were, 
carved  in  stone  upon  the  pillar,  beheld  her  Terror, 
for  love  of  whom  she  was  suffering  this  dire 
punishment,  she  was  at  once  joyed  and  grieved, 
and  began  weeping  pitifully. 

The  king  saw  it,  and  wondered,  and  was  afraid. 
Then,  being  full  of  confidence  in  that  false  devotee, 
he  asked  what  it  might  portend  that  a  stone  image 
should  so  weep  and  wail. 

But  the  Terror,  guileful,  would  not  answer  till 
the  king  importuned  him,  with  growing  fear.  At 
last  he  said  to  the  king:  "Q  King!  Of  a  truth, 
a  fearful  and  terrible  thing  has  been  revealed 
to  me  by  my  ascetic  power.  If  the  King's  Majesty 
will  promise  me  full  pardon,  then  will  I  reveal  it, 
but  if  not,  not." 

The  king  promised,  being  now  greatly  afraid. 
And  the  Terror  said:  "O  King,  it  was  on  an 
evil  day  and  in  an  evil  hour  that  thou  didst 
build  this  shrine,  and  truly  the  spot  whereon  it  is 
built  is  evil!  Therefore  a  dire  and  fearsome 
doom  hangs  over  the  King." 

The  king  besought  him,  saying:  "But  haply 
the  doom  may  be  averted." 

60 


;A    DIRE    DOOM    HANGS    OVER    THE     KING" 


THE  HUMOR  OF  INDIA 

But  that  devotee  shook  his  head,  saying :  ' '  There 
is,  indeed,  a  way.  But  the  King's  Majesty  would 
not  take  it.  Therefore  in  three  days  must  the 
doom  fall." 

Again  the  king  besought  him,  promising  him 
much  gold,  till  at  last  the  Terror  replied:  "O 
King,  it  has  been  revealed  to  me,  through  my 
ascetic  power,  that  there  is,  indeed,  a  way!  For 
this  spot  is  unholy,  and  the  temple  was  built  in 
an  evil  hour.  But  if  the  temple  be  pulled  down, 
and  set  up  again  within  three  days  upon  a  holy 
spot  which  I  shall  reveal  to  the  King,  then  the 
doom  may  be  averted,  but  if  not,  not." 

The  king,  with  fear  upon  him,  commanded 
that  it  should  be  done.  Ere  night  the  temple 
was  pulled  down,  so  that  not  a  stone  stood,  but  all 
was  in  ruins.  So  Crescent  went  rejoicing  to  the 
Terror,  her  lord,  and  they  two  lived  in  much  de- 
light, having  abundant  gold  from  the  king. 

Lord  Indra,  the  ruler  of  the  gods,  heard  of  it  on 
a  festival  day  when  Crescent  came  to  paradise 
to  pay  her  respects.  And  Indra  was  astonished 
at  the  guile  of  the  Terror,  and  laughed  long  at 
the  tale,  for  that  the  Terror  had  cheated  even  the 
lord  of  paradise,  being  ruffianly  and  fearing 
naught. 


THE   GENTLE   GALES   OF  PERSIAN  JESTS 

THE  prettiest  piece  of  Persian  humor  I  have 
yet  found  is  this  little  love-poem  of  a  boy  and 
a  girl:  "I  went  upon  the  mountain-top  to  tend 
the  herd/7  the  boy  declares;  "and  there  I  saw 
a  girl;  her  charm  bewildered  me.  To  her  I  said, 
'Lass,  give  me  a  kissF  But  she  replied,  'Lad, 
give  me  first  some  money!7  I  answered,  'But  the 
money's  in  the  purse;  the  purse  is  in  the  satchel, 
and  the  satchel's  on  the  camel's  back;  and,  woe 
is  me!  the  camel's  in  Kirman.'  She  answered  me, 
'  Thou  wishest  for  a  kiss  from  my  soft  lips !  Truly, 
the  kiss  rests  there  upon  my  lips;  but  these  my 
lips  are  closed  by  lock  and  key;  the  key  is  in  my 
mother's  keeping;  she,  alas!  is,  like  thy  camel,  in 
Kirman.' ' 

From  some  study  of  Persian  love-songs,  I  am 
inclined  to  think  that,  in  due  time,  the  camel  and 
the  key  returned  from  Kirman.  Somewhat  in  the 
same  vein  is  this  fragment  of  a  song,  "In  our 
bill  of  love,  which  is  still  unsettled,  there  are  a 
number  of  outstanding  kisses  to  be  given  and  re- 
ceived." And,  in  this  one  line  from  the  reed- 
pen  of  a  Persian  bard  who  died  centuries  ago,  there 

62 


THE  GENTLE  GALES  OF  PERSIAN  JESTS 

is  evidence  of  the  eternal  sameness  of  the  human 
heart,  for  did  not  that  bard  write  of  his  swarth 
beloved,  "Amid  the  fruits  of  beauty,  thou  art 
my  peach." 

There  is  a  touch  of  satire,  too,  in  the  saying, 
also  from  a  Persian  love-song,  "A  love-sick  poet 
will  find  inspiration  even  in  a  gallows-tree!" 
In  general,  however,  the  genius  of  Persian  humor 
lies  in  quickness  of  reply  and  repartee,  and  this 
quality  is  charmingly  illustrated  in  a  book  from 
which  I  have  ventured  to  borrow  my  title.  It  is 
the  work  of  one  Abdur  Rahman — that  is,  "The 
Slave  of  the  Compassionate  God,"  who  was  born 
at  Jam,  near  Herat,  a  few  years  after  Dan  Chaucer 
died.  From  the  town  of  his  birth,  he  is  called 
Jami,  which  signifies  The  Man  of  Jam.  The  title 
of  his  book  in  full  is  this,  "The  Blowing  of  the 
Gentle  Gales  of  Jests  and  Fragrant  Airs  of  Jokes, 
which  cause  the  Rosebud  of  the  Lips  to  Smile, 
and  make  the  Blossom  of  the  Heart  Expand" — 
a  title  sufficiently  delicious  in  itself. 

The  Man  of  Jam  begins  his  jest-book  daringly, 
by  undertaking  to  prove  that  Mohammed  himself 
was  a  humorist.  It  is  related,  he  writes,  that 
His  Eminence  the  Prophet  (God  bless  and  pre- 
serve him!)  spoke  thus:  "The  believer  is  jocular 
and  sweet-tempered;  the  infidel  is  sour-faced  and 
morose."  Further,  the  Prophet  (God  bless  and 
preserve  him!)  once  said  to  an  old  woman,  "Old 
women  cannot  enter  paradise."  When  the  old 
woman  began  to  weep,  the  Prophet  said,  "Be- 
cause Most  High  Allah  will  renew  their  youth, 

63 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

and  crown  them  once  again  with  beauty.  Then 
will  He  admit  them  to  His  heaven."  Again,  the 
Prophet  said  once  to  the  wife  of  one  of  his  com- 
panions, "Ask  thy  husband  how  his  health  fares, 
for  I  perceive  that  there  is  white  in  his  eye." 
With  great  celerity  and  agitation  the  good  dame 
hastened  to  her  husband,  who  asked  the  cause  of 
her  distress.  When  she  had  repeated  what  Mo- 
hammed had  told  her,  the  husband  said,  "His 
Eminence  spoke  truth;  there  is,  indeed,  white  in 
my  eve>  and  black  also;  yet  not  of  a  dangerous 
sort." 

Whereupon  the  Man  of  Jam,  having  established 
the  orthodoxy  of  jesting,  proceeds  with  his  tale. 
There  was  once,  he  says,  a  learned  man  who  sat 
writing  a  letter  to  one  of  the  friends  of  his  heart. 
He  was  disturbed  and  greatly  annoyed  by  the 
conduct  of  a  rude  person  who,  seated  at  his  elbow, 
kept  glancing  at  the  letter  out  of  the  corner  of 
his  eye.  So  the  wise  man  wrote,  "Had  not  a 
hireling  thief  been  seated  at  my  side,  busily  read- 
ing this  letter  over  my  shoulder,  I  should  have 
written  thee  of  a  certain  secret  matter."  Where- 
upon the  other  cried  out,  "By  Allah,  my  lord,  I 
have  not  read  nor  even  looked  at  thy  letter!" 

A  blind  man  was  passing  along  the  roadway  in 
the  darkness  of  the  night,  with  a  jar  on  his  shoulder 
and  a  lit  lamp  in  his  hand.  A  meddlesome  fellow 
met  him,  who  cried  out,  "O  fool,  since  day  and 
night  are  alike  to  thee,  since  darkness  and 
light  are  as  one  to  thy  blind  eyes,  what  use  hast 
thou  for  this  thy  lamp?"  But  the  blind  man 

64 


THE  GENTLE  GALES  OF  PERSIAN  JESTS 

laughed,  and  answered  him,  "This  lamp  is  not  for 
me,  nor  to  guide  these  blind  eyes  of  mine.  It  is 
for  ignorant  fools  like  thee,  that  they  may  not 
knock  against  me  and  break  my  jar." 

This  is  what  I  mean  by  the  genius  of  Persian 
humor  being  repartee.  Somewhat  caustic,  too,  is 
this  story,  told  against  himself  by  a  wise  man 
who  had  an  uncommon  lack  of  personal  beauty. 

He  related  that  once,  while  he  was  passing 
through  the  bazar,  or,  as  we  should  say,  the 
market-place,  an  elderly  woman  took  him  by 
the  hand  and  led  him  to  the  house  of  a  brass- 
founder.  Entering,  she  said  to  the  founder, 
"Make  it  like  this!"  and  then,  presently,  bade 
the  wise  man  good  day  and  departed.  Greatly 
astonished,  he  asked  the  brass-worker  what  this 
might  mean. 

"She  ordered  an  image  of  Satan,"  answered 
he,  "but  I  knew  not  how  to  fashion  it.  There- 
fore she  brought  thee  here." 

The  same  wise  man  declared  that  once,  when 
he  was  standing  in  the  street  conversing  with  a 
friend,  a  woman  came  and,  standing  opposite  him, 
gazed  long  in  his  face.  When  her  staring  had  ex- 
ceeded all  bounds,  he  said  to  his  slave,  "Go  to  that 
woman,  and  ask  her  what  she  seeks."  The  slave, 
returning  to  him,  reported  her  answer  thus:  "'I 
wished/  said  she,  Ho  inflict  some  punishment  on 
my  eyes,  which  had  committed  a  great  sin.7  r' 

An  exceedingly  ugly  man,  says  Jami,  was  once 
in  the  mosque,  asking  pardon  of  Allah  for  his 
sins  and  praying  to  be  delivered  from  the  fires 

65 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

of  hell.  One  who  overheard  his  prayer  said 
to  him,  "  Wherefore,  O  friend,  wouldst  thou  cheat 
hell  of  such  a  countenance?  Art  thou  reluctant 
to  burn  up  a  face  like  that?" 

Once  again  the  story-writer  tells  us  that  a  cer- 
tain person  with  a  hideous  nose  was  once  on  a  time 
wooing  a  woman.  Describing  himself  to  her  and 
trying  to  make  an  attractive  picture,  he  said,  "I 
am  a  man  devoid  of  lightness  and  frivolity,  and 
I  am  patient  in  bearing  afflictions." 

"Ay!"  said  the  woman.  "  Wert  thou  not  patient 
in  bearing  afflictions,  thou  hadst  never  endured 
thy  nose  these  forty  years." 

All  of  which  is  more  witty  than  kind.  Hardly 
less  sharp  is  this  next  tale.  Bahlul,  we  are  told, 
once  came  into  the  presence  of  the  famed  Caliph 
of  Bagdad,  the  good  Harun  al  Rashid.  One 
of  the  Viziers  accosted  him,  saying,  "Rejoice, 
O  Bahlul,  at  these  good  tidings!  The  Prince  of 
the  Faithful  has  made  thee  ruler  over  apes  and 
swine!" 

"Take  my  orders,  then,"  quickly  retorted 
Bahlul,  "for  surely  thou  art  of  my  subjects." 

Again,  there  is  a  spice  of  national  hatred  in  such 
a  tale  as  this:  A  Turk,  says  Jami,  being  asked 
which  he  would  prefer,  plunder  in  this  world  or 
paradise  hereafter,  made  answer  thus,  "Let  me 
to-day  engage  in  pillage,  and  carry  off  all  that  I 
can  find;  to-morrow  I  shall  be  willing  to  enter 
hell-fire  with  Pharaoh  the  persecutor!" 

For  some  reason  or  other,  the  Man  of  Jam  seems 
to  have  a  deep  detestation  of  school-teachers,  if 

66 


"WERT  THOU  NOT  PATIENT  IN  BEARING  AFFLICTIONS,  THOU  HADST  NEVER 
ENDURED    THY    NOSE    THESE    FORTY    YEARS " 


THE  GENTLE  GALES  OF  PERSIAN  JESTS 

one  may  judge  from  the  many  sharp  jests  he  directs 
against  them.  For  example,  this:  A  teacher,  he 
says,  whose  son  had  fallen  ill  and  was  at  the 
point  of  death,  bade  them  send  for  the  washer 
of  corpses  to  wash  his  son.  "But,"  they  ob- 
jected, "he  is  not  dead  yet!" 

"Never  mind,"  said  the  teacher,  "he  will  be 
dead  by  the  time  they  have  finished  washing 
him." 

Again,  they  said  to  the  son  of  another  teacher, 
"What  a  pity  thou  art  such  a  fool!" 

"Else  were  I  no  true  son  of  my  father,"  he 
replied. 

A  certain  person,  after  going  through  the 
stated  prayers  in  the  mosque,  began  to  make  a 
special  petition,  begging  that  he  might  enter 
heaven  and  be  delivered  from  the  fires  of  hell. 
An  old  woman  was  standing  behind  him,  and 
overheard  his  eloquent  prayer.  "O  Allah!"  she 
cried.  "Let  me  be  a  partner  in  that  which  he 
desires!" 

The  man,  hearing  these  words,  continued,  "O 
Allah,  let  me  be  hanged,  or  die  under  the  lash!" 

"O  Allah!"  exclaimed  the  old  woman.  "Be 
compassionate,  and  preserve  me  from  that  which 
this  man  seeks!" 

When  he  heard  her,  the  man  turned  his  face 
round  toward  her,  and  said,  "What  an  unjust 
arrangement  is  this,  and  what  unfair  distribution! 
In  comfort  and  ease  thou  wouldst  be  my  partner, 
but  wouldst  let  me  suffer  pain  and  trouble  alone!" 

A  Bedouin  once  lost  a  camel;  and,  after  seeking 

67 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

it  long  in  vain,  made  an  oath  that,  if  he  found 
it,  he  would  sell  it  for  a  silver  diram,  which  is  as 
who  should  say  a  dime.  But  when  he  did  find 
it,  he  repented  of  his  oath.  Therefore  he  tied 
a  cat  to  the  camel's  neck,  and  went  through  the 
bazar  calling  out,  "Who  will  buy  a  camel  for  one 
diram,  and  a  cat  for  a  thousand  dirams?  They 
must  be  sold  together,  for  I  will  not  separate 
them!" 

Yet  another  Bedouin  who  had  lost  a  camel 
made  proclamation  thus:  "Whoever  brings  back 
the  camel  I  have  lost  shall  have  two  camels  as  a 
reward!" 

"Out  on  thee,  man!"  they  said  to  him.  "What 
kind  of  business  is  this?  Is  the  half  worth  more 
than  the  whole,  or  one  than  two?" 

"Ah,"  replied  he,  "it  is  evident  that  you  have 
never  tasted  the  joy  of  finding,  or  the  pleasure  of 
recovering  what  was  lost!" 

Here  is  a  jest  five  centuries  old,  yet  it  has  a 
certain  point  to-day.  A  doctor,  says  Abdur 
Rahman  Jami,  was  observed,  whenever  he  ap- 
proached the  cemetery,  to  draw  his  cloak  over  his 
head,  and  hide  his  face.  When  he  was  asked  why 
he  did  this,  he  replied,  "I  am  ashamed,  because 
so  many  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  cemetery  suf- 
fered at  my  hands!" 

Jami  puts  the  following  tale  into  the  mouth 
of  a  too  thrifty  friend.  "One  day,  in  the  season 
of  spring,"  says  he,  "I  went  out  with  a  party 
of  friends  to  ramble  and  survey  the  pleasant 
plains  and  fields.  WTien  we  were  resting  in  a 

63 


THE  GENTLE  GALES  OF  PERSIAN  JESTS 

charming  spot  and  had  spread  our  cloth  to 
eat,  a  dog  perceived  it  and  hurried  up  to  the 
place  from  afar.  One  of  the  party  took  up  a 
stone,  and,  as  if  he  were  throwing  it  some  bread, 
cast  it  to  the  dog.  The  dog  sniffed  at  it,  and 
then  turned  and  ran  back  whence  it  had  come  with- 
out a  moment's  delay,  paying  no  heed  to  all  our 
calling.  While  my  friends  were  wondering  at  the 
actions  of  the  dog,  one  of  them  said,  'Do  you 
know  what  this  dog  is  saying  to  himself?  He  is 
saying,  "  These  poor  wretches  are  so  stingy  and 
hungry  that  they  are  eating  stones.  What  hope 
can  their  tray  afford  me,  and  what  enjoyment 
their  cloth?"  " 

There  is  something  almost  ferocious  in  such 
a  tale  as  this.  A  youth,  says  the  Man  of  Jam, 
was  asked,  "Dost  thou  wish  thy  father  to  die, 
that  thou  mayest  enjoy  the  inheritance?" 

"Not  so!"  he  replied.  "I  wish  rather  that  they 
would  kill  him,  that  I  might  take  not  only  the 
inheritance,  but  also  the  fine  exacted  for  his 
death." 

Less  sardonic,  yet  sharp  enough,  is  this  joke  at 
the  expense  of  the  bards.  A  poet,  he  says,  went 
one  day  to  a  physician,  and  complained  to  him, 
saying,  "I  have  something  sticking  in  my  heart 
which  makes  me  very  uncomfortable  and  sends 
a  numbness  through  all  my  limbs,  while  my  hair 
stands  on  end." 

The  physician,  who  was  a  man  of  wit  and  tact, 
said  to  him,  "Hast  thou  of  late  composed  any 
verse  which  thou  hast  not  yet  read  to  any  one?" 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

"Yes,"  replied  the  poet,  "I  have." 
"Repeat  it  to  me,"  said  the  physician. 
When  this  was  done,  he  said,  " Repeat  it  again!" 
After  hearing  it  a  second  time,  he  said, "  Rise 
and  go  forth!    Thou  art  saved.    It  was  this  verse 
of  thine  which  stuck  in  thy  heart,  spreading  its 
dryness  through  thy  system.     Now  that  thou  hast 
freed  thy  heart  of  it,  thy  health  will  return." 

So  far  the  book  of  Jami  the  Persian,  illustrating 
well  enough  the  nimbleness  of  his  wit,  with  the 
sharp  and  cutting  quality  of  Persian  jests.  There 
is  something  of  the  same  knavish  sharpness  in 
the  ensuing  tale,  which  comes  from  the  Persian 
book  of  Sindibad,  whose  plot,  indeed,  deals  with  a 
most  knavish  intrigue  and  involves  many  of  the 
wiles  of  women  and  the '  wiles  of  men.  Of  the 
latter  I  have  chosen  one  which  relates  that  there 
was  once  a  young  man,  a  merchant,  who  wandered 
about  the  world  like  a  zephyr,  and  who,  like  the 
sun  and  the  moon,  was  on  his  travels  every  month 
in  the  year.  He  was  now  at  Khata,  now  at 
Khutan,  now  in  Aleppo,  and  now  in  Yaman.  He 
carried  the  products  of  Khorassan  to  Kharazm; 
he  conveyed  the  stuffs  of  Ispahan  to  the  Emperor 
of  China;  he  sold  in  Bokhara  the  products  of 
Abyssinia;  and  so  made  a  profit  of  ten  on  each 
one  of  outlay. 

One  day  they  told  him  that  at  Kashgar  sandal- 
wood  was  of  equal  value  with  gold  and  was  sold 
for  its  weight  of  the  yellow,  shining  metal.  There- 
fore he  resolved  to  proceed  thither,  and,  having 
converted  all  his  capital  into  sandalwood,  he  set 

70 


THE  GENTLE  GALES  OF  PERSIAN  JESTS 

out  on  his  journey.  When  he  had  come  near  to 
Kashgar,  a  person  of  the  country,  hearing  that  he 
had  a  large  supply  of  sandalwood,  in  which  he 
himself  dealt,  and  fearing  that  that  commodity 
would  be  depreciated  by  its  abundance,  devised 
the  following  stratagem:  Going  two  stages  out 
of  the  city,  he  halted  at  the  spot  where  the  foreign 
merchant  was,  and,  having  pitched  his  tent  and 
opened  his  bales,  he  lit  a  fire  and  piled  sandalwood 
on  it  for  fuel.  When  the  merchant  smelt  the  odor 
of  the  sandalwood,  he  rushed  from  his  tent  in 
amazement  and  vexation;  the  man  from  the  city 
saluted  him,  saying,  "Thou  art  welcome.  May 
Allah  protect  thee  from  evil!  Say  from  what 
country  comest  thou,  and  what  merchandise  hast 
thou  brought?'7 

The  merchant  informed  him. 

"Thou  hast  made  a  sad  blunder,"  declared  the 
man  of  the  city.  "Why  hast  thou  brought  cumin 
seed  to  Kirman?  For  the  whole  timber  of  this 
country  is  sandalwood;  every  casement,  roof,  and 
door  is  made  of  it.  If  one  were  to  bring  common 
wood  here,  it  would  be  far  better  than  sandalwood. 
Who  has  been  so  cruel  as  to  suggest  to  thee  this 
ill-advised  scheme?  Does  any  bring  musk  to 
Chinese  Tartary,  where  dwells  the  musk-deer?" 

"Alas!"  said  the  young  merchant  to  himself. 
"I  have  thrown  away  my  capital!  Verily,  cove- 
tousness  is  an  unblest  passion.  Alas  for  my  long 
journey  and  the  hardships  I  have  endured!  What 
have  they  availed?  He  who  is  not  content  with 
what  God  allots  him,  prospereth  not." 

6  71 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

The  man  of  the  city,  seeing  that  the  young 
merchant  was  now  ready  for  his  purpose,  said  to 
him,  "The  world  is  never  free  from  profit  and 
loss.  Give  then  thy  sandalwood  to  me,  and  I 
will  give  thee  in  exchange  a  measure  of  gold  or 
silver  or  of  aught  else  thou  desirest!"  To  this 
the  young  merchant  consented,  and  two  wit- 
nesses were  called  and  the  bargain  struck.  The 
merchant  considered  that  the  sum  he  should  re- 
ceive was  so  much  pure  gain,  and  was  rejoiced 
to  be  rid  of  so  worthless  an  article  as  he  had 
brought.  He  thence  proceeded  to  the  city  of 
Kashgar,  and,  entering  that  delightful  spot,  a 
very  model  of  paradise,  took  up  his  abode  in  the 
lodgings  of  a  virtuous  old  woman. 

Of  her  the  merchant  asked  a  question,  the  reply 
to  which  brought  him  much  grief  and  pain.  For 
he  inquired  of  her  what  was  the  value  of  sandal- 
wood  in  that  city  and  kingdom.  And  she  informed 
him  that  in  that  city  was  it  worth  its  weight 
in  gold.  "For  in  the  city,"  she  said,  "headache 
is  common;  and  hence  sandalwood  is  in  de- 
mand." 

At  this  intelligence  the  young  merchant  became 
distracted,  for  he  saw  that  he  had  been  duped. 
He  related  his  adventure  outside  the  city  to  the 
old  woman,  who  cautioned  him  never  to  trust 
the  inhabitants  of  that  city,  by  whose  cunning 
many  had  been  undone. 

When  morning  came,  he  washed  his  eyes  from 
sleep,  and  inquired  the  way  to  the  bazar.  Thither 
he  bent  his  course,  and  wandered  through  market, 

72 


THE  GENTLE  GALES  OF  PERSIAN  JESTS 

street,  and  field,  solitary,  without  friend  or  com- 
panion. He  was  sick  at  heart,  for  his  enterprise 
was  entirely  at  a  stand.  Suddenly  he  observed 
a  person  playing  at  checkers  in  the  street.  He 
stopped,  and  thought  to  himself,  "I  will  play 
with  this  wight  to  dispel  my  grief";  and  so  sate 
him  down  beside  the  player,  quite  forgetting  the 
caution  the  virtuous  old  woman  with  whom  he 
lodged  had  given  him.  The  other  agreed  to  play 
a  game  with  him,  on  condition  that  whichever  lost 
should  be  bound  to  do  whatever  the  winner 
required  of  him,  or  forfeit  all  he  possessed.  The 
young  merchant  was  soon  beaten  by  his  crafty 
opponent,  who  was  a  noted  sharper  of  that  city 
of  sharpers;  and  the  winner  required  as  the  forfeit 
that  he  should  drink  up  the  waters  of  the  sea. 
The  young  merchant  made  an  outcry,  and  the 
people  ran  together  in  an  uproar. 

"He  has  stolen  my  eye!"  cried  another  sharper, 
a  one-eyed  man,  whose  one  blue  eye  was  the  same 
color  as  the  merchant's  two.  And  a  third  sharper 
cried,  "I  will  save  thee,  if  thou  make  me  a  pair 
of  breeches  of  this  piece  of  stone." 

The  story  soon  spread  through  all  Kashgar. 
The  virtuous  old  woman,  hearing  of  it,  hastened 
from  her  house  and  found  her  lodger  in  much 
distress.  She  went  with  him  to  the  Cadi,  and 
became  surety  for  him,  that  she  would  deliver  him 
up  on  the  day  of  trial. 

When  they  reached  her  house,  she  reproached 
him,  saying,  "When  a  man  listens  not  to  advice, 
fresh  calamities  constantly  overtake  him.  Did  I 

73 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

not  tell  thee  to  have  no  dealings  with  the  in- 
habitants of  this  city?" 

"It  is  no  fault  of  thine,"  replied  the  young 
merchant;  "but  there  is  no  remedy  against  the 
decree  of  destiny." 

He  was  greatly  dispirited,  but  she  consoled 
him,  saying,  "Be  not  downcast,  for  joy  ever 
succeeds  to  grief;  there  can  be  no  cure  till  there 
is  a  complaint.  In  this  city  there  is  a  blind  old 
man  with  neither  power  in  his  feet  nor  strength 
in  his  hands,  but  a  man  of  great  intelligence  and 
acuteness.  The  sharpers  of  the  town  assemble 
nightly  at  his  house,  and  are  directed  by  him  how 
to  act.  Do  thou  therefore  dress  thyself  this  night 
like  one  of  them,  and,  repairing  to  his  house,  sit 
silent  among  them.  When  thine  adversaries 
shall  enter  and  relate  their  adventures  of  the  day, 
mark  well  his  answer  and  his  questions.  Be  thou 
all  ear,  like  the  rose.  Like  the  narcissus,  be  thou 
all  eye." 

The  young  man  did  as  she  counseled  him,  and, 
repairing  thither  at  night,  quietly  seated  himself 
in  a  corner.  The  first  who  entered  to  take  counsel 
of  the  blind  man  was  he  who  had  bought  the  sandal- 
wood.  He  related  his  adventure,  saying,  "I  have 
bought  a  cargo  of  sandalwood,  for  which  I  am  to 
give  one  measure  of  whatever  the  seller  may 
choose." 

"O  simpleton!"  exclaimed  the  old  man.  "Thou 
hast  thrown  thyself  into  the  net.  My  son,  this 
crafty  merchant  has  overreached  thee.  For  if 
he  should  demand  of  thee  neither  gold  nor  silver, 

74 


THE  GENTLE  GALES  OF  PERSIAN  JESTS 

but  a  bushel  of  male  fleas  with  silken  trappings 
and  jeweled  bridles  and  all  linked  together  with 
chains  of  gold,  say,  how  wilt  thou  be  able  to 
extricate  thyself  from  this  difficulty?" 

"How,"  replied  the  sharper,  "could  that  brain- 
less merchant  ever  think  of  such  a  thing  as  this?" 

"Be  that  as  it  may,"  answered  the  blind  man, 
"I  have  given  thee  thy  answer." 

Next  entered  the  checker-player,  who  related 
the  adventure  of  the  game. 

"I  have  beaten  the  young  merchant  at  check- 
ers," said  he,  "and  have  bound  him  to  this  con- 
dition, and  there  are  witnesses  to  our  agreement 
that  he  shall  drink  up  the  waters  of  the  sea." 

"Thou  hast  blundered,"  said  the  blind  man, 
"and  thou  art  ensnared,  while  thou  thinkest  that 
thou  hast  him  in  a  snare.  Suppose  that  he  should 
say,  '  I  will  drink  up  the  waters  of  the  sea,  but  do 
thou  first  stop  all  the  streams  and  rivers  that  are 
running  into  it,  that  I  may  indeed  drink  it  dry!' 
What  answer  canst  thou  give  to  this?" 

"Nay,"  replied  the  knave;  "in  his  whole  life, 
that  simpleton  could  never  think  of  this." 

Then  came  the  third  sharper,  a  knave  more 
shameless  than  the  other  two. 

"That  youth,"  said  he,  "has  blue  eyes.  I 
said  to  him,  'This  is  my  eye;  it  is  evident  to 
every  one  that  you  have  stolen  it;  restore  it  to 
me,  that  my  eye  may  have  its  fellow.7  >; 

"O  thou  ignorant  of  the  wiles  of  the  age!" 
replied  the  old  man.  "Thy  fortune  is  more  adverse 

than  these.     For  if  he  should  say,  '  Pluck  out  thine 

75 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

eye,  and  I  will  pluck  out  one  of  mine,  that  we  may 
put  them  both  in  scales  and  judge  by  their  weight 
whether  they  are  a  pair,  and  therefore  thine !' 
That  young  merchant  will  then  have  one  left, 
while  thou  wilt  be  quite  blind!" 

"Never,"  said  the  rogue,  "will  he  think  of  such 
a  trick  as  that!" 

Then  came  the  last  sharper,  who  said,  "I 
charged  him  to  make  a  pair  of  breeches  of  this 
slab  of  stone!" 

But  the  crafty  old  man  replied,  "Thou  hast 
managed  even  worse  than  these.  For  if  thy 
opponent  should  say,  'Nay,  but  do  thou  first 
prepare  me  thread  of  a  piece  of  iron  to  sew 
them  with!'  what  canst  thou  say  in  reply  to  him?" 

"How  should  a  simpleton  like  he  conceive  of  such 
a  thing?"  the  knave  answered. 

Meanwhile,  the  young  man  listened  unobserved, 
and  when  they  had  ended,  he  hastened  home  and 
gave  the  good  woman  a  thousand  thanks  f  or  show- 
ing him  a  plan  whereby  he  might  foil  his  ad- 
versaries. And  so  he  passed  the  night  in  calmness 
and  tranquillity. 

Next  morning,  when  the  parties  appeared  before 
the  Cadi,  the  first  sharper,  who  had  bought  the 
sandalwood,  seized  the  merchant  by  the  collar, 
saying,  "Produce  thy  measure,  that  I  may  fill  it, 
and  give  thee  what  is  thy  due!" 

But  when  the  young  merchant  gave  him  his 
reply  concerning  the  fleas,  the  sharper  sat  down 
there  confounded  in  presence  of  the  Cadi.  In 

like  manner  he  proceeded  with  the  others,  mak- 

76 


THE  GENTLE  GALES  OF  PERSIAN  JESTS 

ing  to  each  the  reply  of  the  old  man.  At  length, 
after  making  a  thousand  difficulties  and  objec- 
tions, he  agreed  to  take  back  his  sandalwood  and 
several  bags  of  gold  as  compensation;  then,  having 
sold  it  to  good  profit,  he  rewarded  the  good  woman, 
and  straightway  departed  from  that  wicked  city 
of  crafty  men. 


VI 

THE   JESTS   THEY  MADE   IN   BAGDAD 

For  it  was  in  the  golden  time 
Of  good  Harun  al  Rashid! 

THEY  used  to  say  in  Bagdad,  "  A  wise 
thief  does  not  steal  in  his  own  quarter  of  the 
city" — sage  advice  followed  by  the  Kurd,  in  this 
authentic  tale.  It  befell  that  the  Commander  of 
the  Faithful,  the  Caliph  Harun  al  Rashid,  one 
night  being  restless  and  ill  at  ease,  sent  for  his 
Vizier  and  said,  "O  Jaafar  son  of  Barmek,  I  am 
sore  wakeful  and  heavy-hearted  this  night,  and  I 
desire  what  may  solace  my  spirit  and  cause  my 
breast  to  broaden  with  amusement !" 

Said  Jaafar,  "O  Commander  of  the  Faithful, 
I  have  a  friend,  by  name  Ali  the  Persian,  who  hath 
store  of  tales  and  pleasant  stories,  such  as  lighten 
the  heart  and  make  care  depart!" 

Ali  the  Persian  was  summoned  to  the  presence. 
Said  Ali: 

"I  left  my  native  city  of  Bagdad  on  a  journey, 
having  with  me  a  lad  who  carried  a  leathern  bag. 
Presently  we  came  to  a  certain  city,  where,  as  I 

was  buying  and  selling,  behold!  a  rascally  Kurd 

78 


THE  JESTS  THEY  MADE  IN  BAGDAD 

fell  on  me  and  seized  my  bag  by  force,  saying, 
'This  is  my  bag  and  all  that  is  in  it  is  mine!' 

" Thereupon  I  cried  aloud,  'Ho  Moslems,  one 
and  all !  Deliver  me  from  the  hand  of  the  vilest 
of  oppressors  I' 

"But  the  people  said,  'Come  both  of  you  before 
the  Cadi,  and  abide  ye  by  his  arbitrament!' 

"So  I  agreed  to  submit  myself  to  such  decision, 
and  we  both  presented  ourselves  before  the  Cadi, 
who  said,  'What  bringeth  you  here,  and  what  is 
your  case  and  your  quarrel?' 

"Said  I,  'We  are  men  at  a  difference,  who  appeal 
to  thee  and  make  complaint  and  submit  ourselves 
to  thy  judgment!' 

"Said  the  Cadi,  'Which  of  you  is  the  complain- 
ant?' 

"The  Kurd  stepped  forward  and  said,  'Allah 
preserve  our  lord  the  Cadi!  Verily,  this  bag  is 
my  bag,  and  all  that  is  in  it  is  my  swag.  It  was 
lost  from  me,  and  I  found  it  with  this  man  my 
enemy!' 

"Said  the  Cadi,   'When  didst  thou  lose   it?' 

"And  the  Kurd  answered,  'But  yesterday,  and 
I  passed  a  sleepless  night  by  reason  of  its  loss.' 

"  'If  it  be  thy  bag,'  said  the  Cadi,  'what  is  in 
it?' 

"Said  the  Kurd,  'There  were  in  my  bag  two 
silver  styles  for  eye-powder  and  antimony,  and  a 
kerchief  wherein  I  had  wrapped  two  gilt  cups  and 
two  candlesticks.  Moreover,  it  contained  two 
tents  and  two  platters  and  two  spoons  and  a 

cushion  and  two  leather  rugs  and  two  ewers  and  a 

79 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

brass  tray  and  two  basins  and  a  cooking-pot  and 
two  water-jars  and  a  ladle  and  a  sacking-needle 
and  a  she-cat  and  two  dogs  and  a  wooden  bench 
and  two  sacks  and  two  saddles  and  a  gown  and 
four  pelisses  and  a  cow  and  two  calves  and  a  she- 
goat  and  two  sheep  and  a  ewe  and  two  lambs  and 
two  green  pavilions  and  a  camel  and  two  she-camels 
arid  a  lioness  and  two  lions  and  a  she-bear  and  two 
jackals  and  a  mattress  and  two  sofas  and  an  upper 
room  and  two  halls  and  a  portico  and  two  sitting- 
rooms  and  a  kitchen  with  two  doors  and  a  com- 
pany of  Kurds  who  will  bear  witness  that  the  bag 
is  my  bag!' 

"Then  said  the  Cadi  to  me,  'And  thou,  sir, 
what  sayest  thou?' 

"So  I  came  forward  (and  indeed  the  Kurd's 
speech  had  bewildered  me)  and  I  said,  '  Allah 
advance  our  lord  the  Cadi!  Verily,  there  was 
naught  in  this  bag  save  a  little  ruined  dwelling 
and  another  without  a  door  and  a  dog-kennel  and 
a  boys'  school  and  youths  playing  dice  and 
tents  and  tent-ropes  and  the  cities  of  Bassorah 
and  Bagdad  and  the  palace  of  Shaddad  bin  Ad 
and  a  blacksmith's  forge  and  a  fishing-net  and 
cudgels  and  pickets  and  girls  and  boys  and  a  thou- 
sand thieves  who  will  testify  that  the  bag  is  my 
bag!' 

"Now  when  the  Kurd  heard  my  words,  he 
wept  and  wailed,  and  said: 

"  'Oh  my  lord  the  Cadi,  this  my  bag  is  known, 
and  what  is  in  it  is  matter  of  renown,  for  in  this 

bag  there  be  castles  and  citadels  and  cranes  and 

80 


THE  JESTS  THEY  MADE  IN  BAGDAD 

beasts  of  prey  and  men  playing  chess  and  draughts. 
Furthermore,  in  this  my  bag  be  a  brood  mare  and 
two  colts  and  a  stallion  and  two  thoroughbred 
steeds  and  two  long  lances,  and  it  containeth 
likewise  a  lion  and  two  hares  and  a  city  and  two 
villages  and  a  woman  and  two  rogues  and  an  image 
and  two  gallows-birds  and  a  blind  man  and  two 
wights  with  good  sight  and  a  limping  cripple 
and  two  monks  and  a  Cadi  and  two  assessors  who 
will  bear  evidence  that  the  bag  is  my  bag!7 

"Said  the  Cadi  to  me,  'And  what  sayest  thou, 
O  AhT 

"Being  filled  with  rage  I  came  forward  and 
said,  ' Allah  keep  our  lord  the  Cadi!  I  had  in 
this  my  bag  a  coat  of  mail  and  a  broadsword  and 
armories  and  a  thousand  fighting  rams  and  a 
sheepfold  with  its  pasturage  and  a  thousand 
barking  dogs  and  gardens  and  vines  and  flowers 
and  sweet-smelling  herbs  and  figs  and  apples  and 
statues  and  pictures  and  flagons  and  goblets 
and  fair-faced  slave-girls  and  singing  women  and 
marriage  feasts  and  tumult  and  clamor  and 
great  tracts  of  land  and  robbers  and  a  company 
of  raiders  with  swords  and  spears  and  bows  and 
arrows  and  true  friends  and  lovers  and  intimates 
and  comrades  and  men  imprisoned  for  crime  and 
cup-companions  and  a  drum  and  flutes  and  flags 
and  banners  and  boys  and  girls  and  brides  in' their 
wedding  bravery  and  singing  girls  and  five  Abys- 
sinian women  and  three  maidens  of  Ind  and  four 
damsels  of  Medina  and  a  score  of  Greek  girls  and 
eighty  Kurdish  dames  and  seventy  Georgian  ladies 

81 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

and  the  Tigris  and  the  Euphrates  and  a  fowling- 
net  and  a  flint  and  steel  and  many-columned 
Iran  and  a  thousand  rogues  and  race-courses 
and  stables  and  mosques  and  baths  and  builders 
and  a  carpenter  and  a  plank  and  nails  and  a  black 
slave  with  his  flageolet  and  a  captain  and  a  caravan- 
leader  and  towns  and  cities  and  a  hundred  thou- 
sand pieces  of  gold  and  Kuf a  and  Anbar  and  twenty 
chests  full  of  stuffs  and  twenty  storehouses  and 
Gaza  and  Askalon  and  all  Egypt  from  Damietta 
to  Assuan,  and  the  palace  of  Kisra  Anushirwan 
and  the  kingdom  of  Solomon  and  from  Wadi 
Nuuman  to  Khorassan,  and  Balkh  and  Ispahan, 
and  from  Ind  to  the  Soudan.  Therein  also 
(may  Allah  prolong  the  life  of  our  lord  the  Kadi!) 
are  doublets  and  cloths  and  a  thousand  sharp 
razors  to  shave  off  the  Cadi's  beard,  except  he 
fear  my  resentment  and  adjudge  the  bag  to  be  my 
bag!' 

"Now  when  the  Cadi  heard  what  we  avouched, 
he  was  confounded  and  said: 

"  'I  see  ye  twain  be  none  other  than  two  pestilent 
fellows,  atheistical  villains  who  make  sport  of 
Cadis  and  stand  not  in  fear  of  reproach.  For  never 
did  tongue  tell  nor  ear  hear  aught  more  wonderful 
than  that  which  ye  pretend.  By  Allah,  from 
China  to  Shajarat,  nor  from  Persia  to  the  Soudan, 
nor  from  Wadi  Nuuman  to  Khorassan,  was  ever 
heard  the  like  of  what  ye  vouch,  or  credited  the 
like  of  what  ye  affirm!  Say,  fellows,  be  this  bag 
a  bottomless  sea,  or  the  day  of  resurrection  that 
shall  gather  together  the  just  and  the  unjust?' 

82 


THE  JESTS  THEY  MADE  IN  BAGDAD 

"Then  the  Cadi  bade  me  open  the  bag,  and  I 
opened  it,  and  behold !  there  were  in  it  bread  and  a 
lemon  and  cheese  and  olives.  So  I  threw  the  bag 
down  before  the  Kurd  and  went  my  way." 

We  are  told  that  the  heart  of  the  Commander 
of  the  Faithful  was  lightened,  and  that  his  breast 
expanded  with  laughter  so  that  he  fell  flat  on 
his  back.  And  he  bade  them  bestow  rich  gifts  on 
Ali  the  Persian. 

Perhaps  the  Kurd  at  first  determined  to  enume- 
rate everything  that  might  possibly  be  in  the  bag 
and  then  to  identify  some  of  the  things  and  claim 
them  as  his  own;  and,  intoxicated  by  the  exube- 
rance of  his  own  verbosity,  burst  out  into  a  wild 
flow  of  exaggeration.  Ali  the  Persian,  dazed  by 
the  Kurd's  whirlwind  talk,  fell  into  the  same  strain, 
and  even  raised  the  limit.  The  Kurd  came  back, 
and  Ali  again  followed  them  with  a  list  like  the 
day  of  resurrection.  Or  perhaps  the  subtle  Ali 
made  the  story  up  on  the  spur  of  the  moment, 
to  gladden  the  heart  of  the  downcast  Caliph. 

One  may  contrast  with  this  mountain  of  words 
the  brevity  of  the  following,  "A  saint  outside,  a 
devil  inside,  like  the  archbishop's  donkey!"  For, 
if  there  be  a  story,  it  is  left  to  the  imagination. 
In  somewhat  the  same  vein  is  this,  "They  came  to 
shoe  the  Pasha's  horses,  and  the  beetle  stuck  out 
its  foot."  Some  little  man  at  court  had  butted  in, 
taking  to  himself  the  compliments  and  honors 
meant  for  his  betters.  "The  Amir's  dog  is  him- 
self an  Amir,"  is  the  Arab  version  of  "Like  master, 
like  man";  but  it  makes  allusion  also  to  the  inso- 

83 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

lence  of  office,  or  of  the  office-boy.  So  does  this, 
"He  who  needs  the  dog  says  to  him,  'Good 
morning,  my  lord !"'  And  there  is  something  which 
comes  home  to  us  in  the  description  of  "March 
weather,  seven  big  snow-storms,  besides  the  small 
ones."  We  ourselves  know  of  a  city  which  might 
be  adumbrated  thus,  "Aleppo — sociability,  chatter, 
and  a  drink  of  water." 

There  is  another  quaint  saying  among  the 
Arabs,  which  suggests  its  own  story:  "It  is  a 
goat,  even  if  it  does  fly."  The  obstinate  man,  it 
seems,  had  seen  a  black  speck  on  the  hillside,  and 
had  declared  it  was  a  goat.  It  rose  in  the  air,  and 
he  persisted,  in  the  words  of  the  proverb.  "Throw 
him  into  the  river,  and  he  will  come  up  with  a  fish 
in  his  mouth"  needs  no  comment;  and  there  is 
equal  wit  in  the  saying,  "The  night  has  turned 
out  to  suit  the  thief."  It  would  be  difficult  to 
better  the  saying,  "The  bug  is  a  beauty  to  its 
mother";  and  there  is  caustic  wisdom  in  the 
proverb,  "A  miser's  money  belongs  to  the  devil." 
Curiously  enough,  there  is  a  genuinely  Hibernian 
note  in  this  saying  of  the  Cairo  slums:  "God  bless 
his  mother.  She  was  even  worse  than  his  father." 
But  most  modern  of  all  is  the  phrase,  "The  tongue 
is  the  neck's  enemy" ;  for,  it  would  seem,  the  Arabs 
long  ago  evolved  the  saying,  to  "get  it  in  the 
neck!" 

There  is  a  fine  and  humorous  tale  that  il- 
lustrates the  menace  of  the  neck  by  the  tongue— 
the  tale  of  the  Silent  Barber.  It  is  told  with 
admirable  reticence,  and  with  an  ascending  climax 

84 


THE  JESTS  THEY  MADE  IN  BAGDAD 

like  the  tale  of  the  bag,  but  it  has,  further,  an  ad- 
mirably funny  and  well-developed  plot.  This  tale 
of  the  Silent  Barber  came  out  on  that  famous 
occasion  when  six  good  men  and  true  confessed 
to  murdering  the  hunchback,  who  was  not  dead 
at  all. 

The  tailor,  whose  jest-loving  wife  had  been  the 
cause  of  all  the  trouble,  related  how  the  men  of 
the  scissors  had  that  very  morning  given  a  break- 
fast, at  which  the  barber  was  present,  an  old  man, 
past  his  ninetieth  year,  of  dark  countenance,  with 
white  beard  and  eyebrows,  with  a  long  nose, 
and  of  haughty  aspect.  To  the  assembled  guests 
the  host  brought  in  a  strange  and  handsome 
youth  of  the  inhabitants  of  Bagdad.  He  was 
attired  in  clothes  of  the  handsomest  descrip- 
tion, but  was  lame  of  one  leg.  He  bowed,  smiling, 
to  the  company,  who  rose  to  greet  him;  but 
when  he  saw  the  barber,  he  turned  furiously 
and  would  have  left  the  hall. 

"  Wherefore  thy  wrath?"  asked  the  host. 

"This  barber!7'  answered  the  youth.  "A  pesti- 
lent fellow!  'Twas  he  that  caused  the  injury  to 
my  leg." 

"Nay,"  protested  the  barber,  "but  I  saved  him 
from  much  evil." 

Said  the  host,  "We  conjure  thee  by  Allah,  relate 
the  adventure!"  But  the  barber  grew  pale  when 
he  heard  it. 

Said  the  youth,  "Good  sirs,  my  sire  was  a 
merchant  of  Bagdad.  He  was  admitted  to  the 
mercy  of  Allah,  and  left  me  much  wealth.  Then 

85 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

I  began  to  attire  myself  in  clothes  of  the  hand- 
somest description  and  to  feed  on  the  most  de- 
licious meats.  Now  Allah,  whose  perfection  be 
extolled,  had  made  me  a  hater  of  women.  One 
day  it  befell  that  I  was  walking  through  the 
streets  of  Bagdad.  A  party  of  merry  maidens, 
coming  toward  me,  blocked  my  way,  and  I,  being 
a  woman-hater,  fled  from  before  them,  down  a  by- 
street, and  sate  me  on  a  stone  bench.  A  window 
across  the  by-street  opened,  and  there  looked  forth 
a  moon-bright  damsel  with  Babylonian  eyes. 
She  watered  the  flowers  in  the  window-box  and 
withdrew.  Fire  transformed  my  heart.  From 
woman-hater  I  became  lover,  and  sate  there 
distraught  till  sunset,  when  the  Cadi  came  riding 
from  the  law-court  with  slaves  before  him  and 
serfs  behind  him,  and  entered  that  same  house. 
Then  I  knew  she  was  the  Cadi's  daughter  and 
beyond  my  reach! 

"I  gat  me  home  grieving,  and  fell  on  my  couch 
distraught,  and  swooned  away.  My  slaves  wept, 
but  I  answered  them  not,  and  my  state  waxed 
worse.  An  ancient  woman  of  my  neighbors 
came,  who  divined  my  plight,  so  I  told  her  the 
tale.  '  Though  she  be  the  Cadi's  daughter/  said 
the  old  dame,  '  yet  can  I  bring  thee  to  her.  There- 
fore brace  up  thy  heart!'  So  I  rose,  heartened 
and  glad  of  face.  And  the  old  dame  went  in  to 
the  Cadi's  daughter  and  wept,  and  told  her  how 
I  was  dying  of  love  for  her;  and  the  Cadi's  daughter 
at  first  was  wroth,  then  she  too  wept  for  my  love, 
and  at  last  bade  the  old  dame  bring  me,  that  she 

86 


THE  JESTS  THEY  MADE  IN  BAGDAD 

might  talk  with  me.  After  three  days  the  old 
woman  came  and  bade  me  make  ready,  for  the 
fair  one  would  see  me  at  her  home  on  Friday,  at 
the  hour  of  prayer,  when  her  father,  the  Cadi,  and 
all  the  men  were  at  the  mosque.  So  I  rejoiced, 
and  bade  call  a  barber,  and  they  brought  this 
fellow  to  me. 

" Entering,  he  said,  'May  Allah  dispel  thy 
grief  I' 

"I  answered,  'May  Allah  hear  thy  prayer  I' 

"Said  the  barber,  'Let  my  lord  rejoice,  for 
health  hath  returned  to  thee!  Wilt  thou  be 
shaved  or  wilt  thou  be  bled?  For  it  hath  been 
handed  down  on  the  authority  of  Ibn  Abbas 
that  the  Prophet,  on  whom  be  blessing,  hath 
said,  "Whoso  shaveth  his  head  on  a  Friday,  Allah 
will  avert  from  him  seventy  calamities."  And  on 
like  authority  it  is  said,  "Whoso  is  bled  on  a 
Friday,  misfortune  will  follow  after  him!"; 

"I  said,  'Cease  from  too  much  speaking,  and 
shave  my  head!' 

"So  he  arose  and  took  from  his  sleeve  a 
kerchief,  which  he  opened,  and  lo!  in  it  was 
a  quadrant,  wherewith,  going  out  to  the  court, 
he  began  to  take  the  sun.  After  pondering  long, 
he  returned  and  said,  'Know,  sir,  that  there 
have  sped  of  this  our  day,  which  is  Friday  the 
tenth  of  the  month  Safar,  of  the  year  two  hundred 
and  three  score  and  three  of  the  Flight  of  the 
Prophet,  upon  whom  be  blessing  and  peace,  and 
the  ascendant  planet  of  which,  according  to  the 
rules  of  astrology,  is  the  planet  Mars — of  this  day, 

7  87 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

I  say,  there  have  sped  seven  degrees  and  six 
minutes,  and  it  happeneth  that  Mercury  hath  come 
into  conjunction  with  Mars;  therefore  the  shaving 
of  the  head  is  now  a  most  auspicious  undertaking. 
It  hath  been  indicated  to  me  also  that  thou  wouldst 
confer  a  benefit;  happy  is  the  receiver!  But  it 
hath  also  been  revealed  to  me  that  a  certain 
matter  portendeth,  whereof  I  would  not  speak/ 

"  'In  the  name  of  Allah !'  I  cried.  l  Thou  weariest 
me,  and  dissipatest  my  wits,  and  augurest  against 
me,  when  I  desired  thee  only  to  shave  my  head! 
Arise,  then,  and  shave  it,  and  cut  short  thy 
words!' 

"  'In  the  name  of  Allah!'  said  he.  ' Didst  thou 
comprehend  the  matter,  thou  wouldst  ask  me  to 
speak  more.  I  counsel  thee  to  do  this  day  as  I 
admonish  thee,  according  to  the  secrets  of  the 
stars.  Thou  shouldst  acclaim  Allah,  and  not 
withstand  me.  I  give  thee  good  counsel,  and 
regard  thee  compassionately.  Would  that  I  were 
in  thy  service  a  year,  that  thou  mightest  learn  my 
worth,  nor  would  I  seek  for  pay!' 

"I  replied,  'Thou  slayest  me  with  thy  tongue!' 
Is  there  no  escape? — for  my  heart  burned  to  visit 
the  damsel,  and  I  feared  lest  ere  my  coming  the 
Cadi  would  return,  and  all  be  lost. 

' '  Said  the  barber,  '  O  my  master !  I  am  he  whom 
they  call  The  Silent,  for  the  fewness  of  my  words, 
for  it  is  this  that  distinguisheth  me  from  my 
brothers;  for  my  eldest  brother  is  named  Bakbuk, 
and  the  second  Heddar,  and  the  third  Bakbak, 
and  the  fourth  Alkuz,  and  the  fifth  Anashar,  and 

88 


THE  JESTS  THEY  MADE  IN  BAGDAD 

the  sixth  is  named  Shakabak,  and  the  seventh  is 
named  Al  Samit,  The  Silent,  and  he  is  myself!7 

"I  felt  as  if  my  liver  had  burst,  and  said  to  my 
slave,  'Give  him  a  quarter  of  a  piece  of  gold,  and 
let  him  go  in  the  name  of  Allah!  I  no  longer  wish 
to  shave  my  head!'  For  the  time  was  speeding, 
and  my  heart  was  hot. 

"But  the  silent  one  answered,  'What  saith  my 
lord?  Nay,  can  I  serve  thee  not,  how  can  I  take 
thy  gold?  For  I  must  serve  thee,  for  such  is  my 
duty  and  my  need,  and  I  dare  not  if  I  receive  no 
reward.  For  if  thou  knowest  not  my  worth,  I 
know  thine;  and  thy  father,  on  whom  may  Allah 
show  grace,  treated  us  beneficently,  for  he  was  a 
generous  man.  By  Allah,  thy  father  sent  for  me 
on  a  day — nay,  even  such  a  day  as  this — and  I 
came  to  him  in  the  midst  of  his  friends,  and  he 
addressed  me,  saying,  "Take  some  blood  from 
me!"  So  I  took  the  astrolabe  and  observed  the 
sun's  altitude,  and  found  the  ascendant  of  the  hour 
to  be  of  evil  omen,  and  that  the  letting  of  blood 
would  be  fraught  with  peril,  wherefore  I  so  in- 
formed him,  and  he  hearkened  to  me,  and  had 
patience,  waiting  until  the  auspicious  time,  when 
I  took  blood  from  him.  He,  indeed,  withstood  me 
not,  but  thanked  me,  and  in  like  manner  all  the 
company  thanked  me,  and  thy  father  gave  me  a 
hundred  pieces  of  gold.' 

"Said  I,  'May  Allah  show  no  mercy  to  my 
father  for  knowing  such  a  man  as  thou!'  For 
the  damsel  was  awaiting  me,  and  I  bethought  me 
of  her  Babylonian  eyes. 

89 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

"But  the  barber  made  answer,  ' There  is  none 
great  but  Allah,  and  Mohammed  is  the  Prophet 
of  Allah!  Praised  be  the  majesty  of  Him  who 
changeth  others,  but  He  changeth  not!  I  es- 
teemed thee  to  be  not  other  than  a  person  of  wis- 
dom, but  thou  speakest  unwisdom  because  of  thy 
sickness.  In  the  most  excellent  Koran,  Allah 
hath  mentioned  those  who  abstain  from  anger 
and  those  who  forgive — but  thou  art  excused.  I 
am  unacquainted,  however,  with  the  cause  of  thy 
haste.  Thou  knowest  that  thy  father  did  naught 
without  taking  counsel  with  me,  and  it  hath  been 
said  also  that  he  whose  counsel  is  sought  should 
be  trusted.  Am  I  not  a  man  skilled  in  the  ways 
of  the  world  and  ready  to  serve  thee?  I  am  not 
displeased  with  thee.  How,  then,  art  thou  dis- 
pleased with  me?  But  I  forgive  thee  because  of 
the  favors  thy  father  bestowed  on  me.  Thou  art 
but  a  youth,  and  thy  sense  is  weak.  It  is  not  long 
since  I  carried  thee  on  my  shoulder,  and  took  thee 
to  school/ 

"Then  said  I,  bethinking  me  of  her  who 
waited,  'In  the  name  of  Allah  depart,  that  I 
may  discharge  my  business!'  and  I  rent  my  gar- 
ment in  anger. 

"When  the  silent  one  saw  it,  he  laid  hold  on 
his  razor,  and  set  him  to  sharpening  it.  And 
this  he  continued,  till  methought  my  soul  had 
fled  from  my  body.  Then,  approaching  my  head, 
he  shaved  a  small  part  of  it.  Then,  raising 
his  hand  from  me,  he  spoke  thus,  'O  my 
master!  Haste  is  of  the  Devil!  I  think  that 

90 


THE  JESTS  THEY  MADE  IN  BAGDAD 

thou  knowest  not  my  condition,  for  this  hand  of 
mine  resteth  upon  the  heads  of  kings  and  amirs 
and  sages.7 

"  'Leave  what  concerneth  thee  not!'  I  cried. 
'Thou  contractest  my  heart!' 

"  'I  have  a  fancy/  said  he,  'that  thou  art  in 
haste?' 

"  'Yea,  yea,  yea,  by  Allah,  I  am!'  said  I. 

"  'Haste  not!'  said  he,  'for  haste  is  of  the  Evil 
One,  and  is  the  begetter  of  grief  and  repentance. 
The  Prophet,  on  whom  be  blessing,  hath  said, 
"  Happy  is  the  matter  that  beginneth  deliberately!" 
And,  before  Allah,  I  am  in  doubt  as  to  this  affair 
whereto  thou  hastest!  Thou  wouldst  do  well, 
therefore,  to  make  it  known  to  me.' 

"He  threw  the  razor  from  his  hand  in  anger,  and, 
taking  the  quadrant,  went  again  to  observe  the 
sun.  After  he  had  waited  a  long  time  he  re- 
turned and  said,  'There  remaineth  now  until  the 
hour  of  prayer.'  .  .  . 

"  'In  the  name  of  Allah,'  I  cried,  'be  silent,  for 
thou  causest  my  liver  to  burst!' 

"And  thereupon  he  took  the  razor,  and  sharp- 
ened it  as  he  had  done  before,  and  shaved  another 
portion  of  my  head.  Then,  stopping  again,  he 
said,  'I  am  in  anxiety  on  account  of  thy  hurry. 
If  thou  wouldst  acquaint  me  with  its  cause,  it 
would  be  better  for  thee,  for  thou  knowest  that 
thy  father  did  naught  without  consulting  me.' 

"I  perceived  now  that  I  could  not  escape  his 
importunity,  and  said  within  myself,  'The  time  of 
prayer  is  almost  come,  and  I  must  go  before 

91 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

they  come  forth  from  the  mosque.  If  he  delay 
me  a  little  longer,  I  know  not  how  I  shall  gain  ad- 
mission to  her/  Therefore  I  said  to  him,  '  Hasten, 
O  barber,  and  cease  from  thy  talk,  for  I  desire  to 
go  to  an  entertainment  with  my  friends!' 

"But  when  he  heard  of  the  entertainment,  he 
said,  'This  day  is  a  blessed  day  for  me.  For 
yesterday  I  invited  my  intimate  friends  to  come 
and  feast  with  me,  and  lo!  I  have  forgotten  to 
prepare  the  repast!  But  now  thou  recallest  it 
to  me.  On  account  of  my  negligence  I  shall 
suffer  disgrace  and  confusion!' 

"Therefore  I  said  to  him,  'Be  not  concerned 
about  this,  for  I  have  told  thee  that  I  go  forth; 
therefore  all  that  is  in  my  house  is  thine,  for  thy 
entertainment,  if  thou  wilt  use  haste  in  my 
matter  and  quickly  shave  my  head/ 

"  'May  Allah  reward  thee  with  all  blessings!' 
he  cried.  '  Tell  me,  therefore,  what  is  in  thy  house 
for  my  guests?' 

"  'Five  dishes  of  meat,'  said  I,  'and  ten  fowls, 
and  a  roast  lamb !' 

"  'Let  them  be  brought,'  said  he,  'that  I  may 
see  them!' 

"So  I  had  them  brought,  and  the  barber,  re- 
joicing exceedingly,  cried  out,  'Heaven  hath  been 
gracious  unto  thee!  How  generous  is  thy  heart! 
But  the  incense  and  the  perfumes  are  lacking!' 

"Therefore  I  bade  bring  a  box  of  perfumes, 
aloe  and  ambergris  and  musk,  worthy  fifty  finars. 
The  time  was  now  shrunk,  like  my  heart,  so  I 
said  to  him,  'Take  these  gifts;  and  finish  the 

92 


THE  JESTS  THEY  MADE   IN  BAGDAD 

shaving  of  my  head,  by  the  life  of  the  Prophet, 
whom  may  Allah  preserve!7 

"But  he  answered,  'Nay,  I  will  not  until  I 
see  what  be  in  the  box!7 

"I  therefore  bade  the  slave  open  the  box  before 
him.  Whereupon,  throwing  down  the  quadrant 
from  his  hand,  he  sate  him  on  the  ground  and, 
taking  the  box,  turned  over  the  aloe  and  musk 
and  ambergris  in  his  hand,  till  my  soul  well  nigh 
parted  from  my  body. 

"Then,  rising,  the  barber  once  more  took  his 
razor,  and  shaved  yet  another  portion  of  my 
head.  After  a  while  he  fell  a-pondering,  and  said, 
'By  Allah,  0  my  son,  I  know  not  whether  I 
should  thank  thee  or  thy  father;  for  my  feast 
to-day  is  wholly  of  thy  bounty,  and  none  of  my 
guests  is  worthy  of  it,  for  I  have  among  my  guests 
Zaitun,  the  keeper  of  the  baths,  and  Salia,  the 
wheat-seller,  and  Ukal,  the  bean  merchant,  and 
Akrasha,  the  grocer,  and  Homayd,  the  dustman, 
and  Akarish,  the  milk-seller,  and  each  of  these  hath 
a  dance  which  he  danceth,  and  each  of  them 
knoweth  verses  which  he  reciteth,  and  I,  thy  ser- 
vant, know  neither  garrulousness  nor  forward- 
ness. And  each  of  them  hath  a  jest  that  the  other 
hath  not ;  but  the  telling  is  not  equal  to  the  seeing. 
Therefore,  if  thou  wilt,  leave  thy  friends  for  this 
day,  and  be  of  our  company,  for  doubtless  thy 
friends  are  persons  of  much  talk  that  will  weary 
thee,  with  thy  sickness  yet  on  thee/ 

"  'If  it  be  Allah's  will/  I  answered,  'that  shall 
be  on  another  day.7 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

"But  he  answered,  'Nay,  better  is  it  thou  join 
my  friends  first,  and  find  pleasure  in  them.' 

"I  laughed  from  a  heart  laden  with  anger,  and 
said  to  him,  '  Do  thou  what  I  require  of  thee,  that 
I  may  go  in  the  care  of  Allah,  whose  name  be 
exalted;  and  go  thou  to  thy  friends,  for  they  await 
thee!' 

"  'Nay/  said  he,  'but  I  must  bring  thee  to  my 
friends,  for  they  be  all  men  of  wit  and  worth.' 

"  'May  Allah  give  thee  joy  with  them,'  I 
answered,  'and  indeed  I  must  bring  them  to  my 
house  that  I  may  know  them!' 

"  'If  that  be  thy  wish/  said  the  barber,  'I  will 
hasten  to  my  house  with  these  gifts,  and  then, 
returning  hither,  go  with  thee  to  thy  friends,  and 
then  shalt  thou  come  with  me  to  my  friends.' 

"Thereupon  I  cried  out,  'There  is  no  strength 
nor  majesty  save  in  Allah,  the  High  and  Mighty! 
Go  thou  to  thy  companions  and  make  merry  with 
them,  and  let  me  go  to  mine!' 

"  'Nay,  but/  he  replied,  'I  will  not  leave  thee!' 

"  'Nay,  none  can  go  with  me  whither  I  am 
going!'  I  answered. 

"Then  said  he,  pondering  sorrowfully,  'Nay, 
I  fear  thou  hast  a  meeting  with  some  fair  one ;  else 
wouldst  thou  take  me  with  thee!  Beware, 
therefore,  lest  danger  overtake  thee!' 

"  'Woe  upon  thee,  shameless  old  man!'  I 
answered.  'What  words  are  these?' 

"Thereupon  he  shaved  me  in  silence,  and  the 
hour  of  prayer  drew  ever  nigher.  When  he  had 

made  an  end  of  shaving  me,  I  said,  '  Go  now,  make 

94 


THE  JESTS  THEY  MADE  IN  BAGDAD 

merry  with  thy  friends,  and  return  hither!  I  will 
await  thee,  and  thou  shalt  go  with  me!7 

"But  he  replied,  'Nay,  thou  seekest  to  deceive 
me  and  to  bring  calamity  upon  thyself.  In  the 
name  of  Allah,  quit  not  this  place  till  I  return  I' 

"  'Come  quickly,  then!'  I  answered.  So  he 
departed,  taking  with  him  the  largess  of  dainties 
for  the  feast.  But  he  went  not  to  his  home,  but, 
delivering  the  dainties  to  a  porter,  he  returned, 
and  hid  himself  in  a  by-street  near  my  house, 
though  I  saw  it  not. 

"When  he  was  departed  from  me,  I  arose 
quickly.  The  muezzins  on  the  minarets  had 
already  chanted  the  call  to  prayer.  I  donned  fair 
raiment  and  went  forth  alone,  betaking  me  to  the 
by-street  of  the  Cadi's  house,  and  I  went  toward 
the  door  where  I  had  beheld  the  damsel.  And 
my  heart  was  hot,  for  I  knew  that  she  awaited 
me.  But,  lo!  the  barber  had  come  forth,  and  was 
close  behind  me,  and  I  knew  it  not!  So,  finding 
the  door  open,  I  entered  and  went  into  the  inner 
hall. 

"But  at  that  very  time  the  Cadi  returned,  com- 
ing from  the  mosque,  and  entered  the  hall,  and 
closed  the  door;  and  my  heart  grew  cold  with 
fear.  And  it  befell  that,  fulfilling  the  purpose  of 
Allah  to  rend  the  veil  of  protection  before  me,  a 
slave-girl  committed  a  fault,  and  the  Cadi  struck 
her.  She  made  outcry,  and  one  of  the  men  slaves 
came  running,  and  him  too  the  Cadi  struck  in  his 
wrath.  The  man  slave  cried  out;  and  the  barber, 

standing  without  the  door,  thought  that  the  cry 

95 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

was  mine,  and  that  I  was  wounded  by  the  Cadi. 
So  he  rent  his  garment,  and  threw  dust  on  his 
head,  and  howled  for  help.  A  crowd  gathered, 
and  the  barber  cried  aloud: 

"  'My  master  is  in  that  house,  and  the  Cadi 
hath  slain  him!'  Then,  running  to  my  house 
with  the  crowd  following  him,  he  alarmed  my 
household.  They  too  came  running,  crying  out, 
'Alas  for  our  master!  Alas  for  our  master!' 

"The  barber  ran  before  them,  his  clothes  torn, 
making  a  pitiable  howling,  and  the  folk  of  the  city 
followed  them. 

"The  barber  wailed  aloud,  and  all  with  him, 
'Alas  for  our  slain!7  So  they  came  to  the  house. 
When  the  Cadi  heard  it,  he  was  troubled,  and 
went  and  opened  the  door.  'What  tumult  is 
this,  O  people?'  said  the  Cadi. 

"  'Thou  hast  slain  our  master!'  they  answered. 

"  'What  hath  your  master  done  that  I  should 
slay  him?'  said  the  Cadi.  'And  wherefore  is  this 
barber  come?' 

"  'I  heard  him  cry  out!'  said  the  barber.  'Thou 
hast  beaten  him  with  rods!' 

"Said  the  Cadi,  wondering,  'Why  should  I 
slay  thy  master?  Whence  came  he,  and  whither 
would  he  go?' 

"  'Evil-hearted  old  man!'  cried  the  barber. 
'Wherefore  dost  thou  make  concealment?  For  I 
know  the  truth  and  the  reason  of  his  coming! 
Thy  daughter  loveth  him,  and  he  her,  and  would 
come  to  her.  Thou  hast  found  him  in  thy  house, 
and  thou  hast  slain  him!  In  the  name  of  Allah, 

96 


THE  JESTS  THEY  MADE  IN  BAGDAD 

let  the  Caliph  decide  the  matter!  Bring  forth  the 
body  of  my  master  ere  I  enter  thy  house!7 

"The  Cadi  was  abashed  before  the  people, 
and  ceased  speaking.  But  presently  he  said, 
'Nay,  if  thou  sayest  truly,  enter  thyself,  and  bring 
him  forth!' 

"So  the  barber  stepped  forward  and  entered 
the  house.  And  when  I  saw  him  coming,  I  sought 
a  way  to  escape,  and  saw  a  chest  there,  and 
entered  it,  drawing  down  the  lid,  holding  my 
breath. 

"The  barber  came  to  the  inner  hall,  and, 
seeking  not  elsewhere,  came  straight  to  the  chest. 
He  felt  the  weight  of  it,  and  hefted  it,  and  set 
it  on  his  shoulder,  crying  out,  'The  body  of  my 
master  is  here!  I  have  found  my  master's  body!' 
And  my  reason  went  from  me  in  wrath  and 
fear. 

"Seeing  no  escape,  I  lifted  the  lid,  and  leaped 
to  the  ground,  thus  doing  hurt  to  my  leg.  When 
I  saw  the  people  at  the  door,  I  scattered  gold 
among  them  to  divert  them,  and  fled  along  the 
street.  And  the  barber  followed  me. 

"Wherever  I  ran,  he  pursued  me,  crying  aloud, 
'Woe  is  me  for  my  master!  Praise  be  to  Allah, 
who  hath  prevailed  against  them  and  saved  my 
master!  Thou  didst  hasten  toward  evil,  O  master, 
till  thou  broughtest  this  calamity  upon  thee! 
Had  not  Allah  blessed  thee  with  me,  thou  hadst 
not  escaped.  Pray  Allah,  therefore,  that  I  may 
live  long  to  watch  over  thee  and  guard  thee  from 

calamity!    By  Allah,  thou  hast  well  nigh  brought 

97 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

me  too  into  destruction.  Yet  I  am  not  angered, 
but  I  pardon  thy  ignorance,  for  thou  hast  little 
wit  and  art  overhasty.' 

"  'Art  thou  not  satisfied  with  what  thou  hast 
done/  I  cried,  'that  thou  must  follow  me  through 
the  streets?'  And  I  prayed  for  death  to  liberate 
me  from  him,  yet  found  it  not.  So  I  ran  from 
him  in  despite  and  wrath,  and  entered  a  shop 
in  the  market-place,  and  besought  the  master  of 
the  shop  to  protect  me  against  the  barber.  So 
he  drove  him  away. 

" Therefore  I  said  within  myself,  'I  cannot  rid 
me  of  this  pestilent  fellow,  but  he  will  follow  me 
night  and  day,  and  I  cannot  bear  to  look  upon 
him!' 

"So  I  summoned  witnesses,  and  made  a  writing, 
dividing  my  wealth  to  my  family,  and  appointing 
a  warden,  whom  I  bade  sell  my  house,  and  I  set 
forth  on  a  journey,  and  came  hither.  And  now, 
behold,  he  is  here!  How  then  can  I  abide  among 
you?"; 

But  the  barber  said,  "In  the  name  of  Allah! 
Through  my  wisdom  did  I  act  thus,  and  Allah 
hurt  thy  leg  to  spare  thy  life.  Were  I  a  man  of 
many  words,  I  had  not  done  this;  but  hearken,  I 
will  relate  a  happening  that  befell,  that  ye  may 
know  me  for  a  man  of  little  speech  and  scanty— 

The  tailor  here  interrupted  him: 

"What  passed  between  the  Cadi  and  his  daugh- 
ter, Allah  knoweth." 


"WHAT  PASSED  BETWEEN  THE  CADI  AND  HIS  DAUGHTER, 
ALLAH  KNOWETH" 


VII 

THE   WIT  AND   SATIRE   OF  THE   HEBREWS 

THE  Chief  Rabbi  of  England  once  pointed  out, 
in  a  spirit  of  perfect  reverence,  that  there  were 
many  passages  of  intentional  wit  in  the  Old 
Testament,  and  that  many  more  passages  had 
been  the  cause  of  rich  rabbinical  humor.  One 
need  not  be  more  royalist  than  the  king;  therefore 
I  may  venture,  in  an  equally  reverent  spirit,  to 
follow  in  the  good  rabbi's  footsteps. 

No  story,  perhaps,  has  been  the  source  of  more 
mental  ingenuity  throughout  the  ages  than  the 
legend  of  Adam's  rib.  Centuries  ago  the  Jews 
wove  many  tales  and  fancies  out  of  the  ancient 
theme.  They  said,  for  instance,  that  the  great 
Rabbi  Gamaliel  had  once  brought  the  Scriptures 
of  his  nation  to  the  Roman  Emperor  Hadrian, 
who,  after  a  study  of  the  Sacred  Books,  rashly 
retorted  to  the  rabbi  that,  in  the  story  of  Genesis, 
the  Creator  was  little  better  than  a  thief,  because  v 
he  had  stolen  one  of  Adam's  ribs.  Gamaliel  was 
bewildered  and  perplexed,  but  his  fair  daughter 
arose  to  the  occasion. 

"Let  me   answer   the  emperor!"   she  begged, 
aand  I  will  vindicate  our  holy  writings !" 

99 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

So  on  the  next  day  she  presented  herself  before 
Hadrian.  "O  Emperor  of  the  Romans!"  she 
cried.  "  Truly  a  terrible  thing  has  happened, 
wherefore  we  invoke  thy  aid!" 

Hadrian  was  greatly  concerned,  and  asked  what 
it  was.  The  Hebrew  maiden  replied  that,  at  the 
dead  and  darkling  hour  of  midnight,  a  thief  had 
subtly  and  stealthily  entered  their  abode,  and  had 
stolen  away  a  silver  flagon,  though  it  was  true, 
she  added,  that  he  had  left  a  golden  flagon  in  its 
place. 

"Why,"  cried  the  Roman  emperor,  "that  was 
no  robber,  but  a  benefactor!  Would  that  such  a 
one  might  rob  me  too!" 

The  Hebrew  maiden  smiled  a  subtle  Oriental 
smile.  "Ah!"  she  said,  looking  down  and  blush- 
ing sweetly;  "then  why  do  you  blame  the  Creator 
and  accuse  him  of  theft,  seeing  that,  if  he  took 
one  rib  from  Adam,  he  left  him  Eve  instead?" 

The  rabbis  went  on  to  embroider  on  this  same 
story,  making  Hadrian  ask  why  the  rib  was  taken, 
and  not  the  eye  or  the  ear. 

"The  Creator  would  not  take  the  head,"  replied 
the  daughter  of  Gamaliel,  "lest  Eve  might  be  too 
proud.  He  would  not  take  the  eye,  lest  she  might 
be  wanton;  nor  the  tongue,  lest  she  might  talk 
too  much;  nor  the  ear,  lest  she  might  be  a  gossip, 
listening  to  vain  words  and  tales;  nor  the  hand, 
lest  she  might  be  avaricious;  nor  the  foot,  lest 
she  might  go  astray.  So  he  chose  the  rib,  and 
from  the  left  side,  which  is  less  worthy,  so  that 

Eve  might  be  full  of  humility." 

100 


THE   WIT  AND   SATIRE   OF  triE   HEBREWS 

Then  follows  a  reply  which  seems  to  be  grim 
enough  in  its  humor  to  have  come  from  a  Scotch- 
man or  a  Chinaman.  Hadrian  finally  asked  why 
the  Creator  had  taken  Adam's  rib  at  dead  of 
night. 

" Because/'  said  the  maiden,  "he  wished  Eve 
to  be  well  pleasing  to  Adam.  If  you  see  the 
raw  meat  before  it  is  cooked,  it  takes  your  ap- 
petite away.  Therefore  the  Creator  took  the 
rib  at  night,  when  it  was  dark." 

Another  excellent  rabbinical  tale  concerns 
King  Solomon.  Once  that  thrice-wise  sage  was 
sitting  at  the  window  of  his  palace,  looking  out 
over  his  garden,  when  he  heard  a  swallow  twitter- 
ing. Having  from  the  Creator  the  gift  of  under- 
standing the  speech  of  beasts  and  birds,  the  great 
and  all-wise  Solomon  gave  ear  to  the  swallow's 
words. 

"I,"  said  the  swallow,  "am  the  strongest 
of  all  living  things.  Even  King  Solomon  could 
not  stand  against  me!" 

"How  so?"  said  the  lady  swallow,  his  spouse. 
"Is  not  Solomon  invincible?" 

"Nay,"  answered  her  mate,  "if  I  were  to  enter 
his  palace,  by  the  mere  beating  of  my  wings  I 
could  slay  King  Solomon  and  reduce  his  palace 
to  ruins." 

Solomon  was  not  greatly  pleased  at  this  dis- 
respectful boast;  therefore,  exercising  his  power, 
he  called  the  swallow  into  his  room,  and  asked 
him  what  was  the  meaning  of  that  high  saying. 

"Hush!"  said  the  swallow,  winking  irreverently 
101 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

at  the  great  king.  "  I  only  said  that  to  humbug  my 
wife!  She  believes  everything  I  tell  her,  and 
thinks  I  am  the  greatest  thing  on  earth!  Honor 
among  husbands!  Don't  give  me  away!" 

They  say  also  that,  once  on  a  time,  the  great 
and  wise  King  Solomon  was  playing  at  chess  with 
his  general  Benaiah.  King  Solomon,  to  whom 
even  the  invention  of  the  game  is  attributed  by 
the  rabbis,  always  won,  and  thought  not  a  little 
of  his  skill.  The  game  had  progressed  to  a  certain 
point,  and  King  Solomon  was  decidedly  getting 
the  best  of  it,  when  a  sudden  commotion  in  the 
street  attracted  him,  and,  intent  king-like  on  the 
order  and  quiet  of  the  city,  he  went  to  the  window 
to  learn  what  was  taking  place.  While  the  wise 
king's  back  was  turned,  Benaiah  purloined  and 
alienated  one  of  the  king's  knights,  and,  when  the 
game  was  set  going  again,  the  general's  advantage 
was  so  great  that  he  checkmated  the  king  and 
won  the  game. 

Solomon  the  all-wise  was  at  first  astounded,  and 
then,  coming  to  himself,  he  pondered  on  the  cause, 
went  over  the  game  again,  and  in  mind  repeated 
move  after  move.  Thus  proceeding,  he  presently 
discerned  the  trick  of  the  missing  knight  and  the 
guile  of  the  general  Benaiah.  So  he  set  himself 
to  drive  the  warrior  to  voluntary  confession. 
And  this  he  did  after  this  wise.  Disguising  him- 
self as  a  street  robber,  he  left  the  palace,  and 
shortly  came  on  two  others  of  like  profession. 
They  accosting,  he  declared  that  he  had  the  key 

of  the  treasury  of  the  great  king,  and  that,  if 

102 


BENAIAH    PURLOINED    ONE    OF  THE    KING'S   KNIGHTS 


THE   WIT  AND   SATIRE   OF  THE  HEBREWS 

they  would  aid  him,  he  would  gain  admittance 
for  them  to  the  vaults.  So  at  the  dim,  dead  hour 
of  night,  what  time  the  sheeted  dead  did  squeak 
and  gibber  in  the  streets,  the  three  found  their 
dark  and  felonious  way  to  the  treasure-vaults 
where  was  stored  the  gold  of  Ophir,  with  vessels 
of  gold  and  silver  and  precious  jewels  innume- 
rable. But  no  sooner  were  they  well  within  the 
vaults  than  the  crafty  king  backed  out  again, 
leaving  his  two  pals  in  the  treasure-house  and 
straightway  locking  the  door  on  them.  Solomon 
summoned  the  watch,  <and  in  a  few  minutes  his 
two  fellow-thieves  were  loaded  with  chains  and 
cast  into  a  vile  dungeon.  Then  Solomon,  once 
more  donning  his  robes  of  state,  entered  his  council- 
chamber,  and  summoned  the  general  Benaiah. 
When  the  general  came,  Solomon  fixed  him  with 
his  eagle  eye  and  demanded: 

"What  should  be  done  to  him  who  robs  his 
king?" 

Benaiah  was  smitten  with  the  remorse  which 
comes  from  the  fear  of  being  speedily  found  out; 
and,  like  many  a  modern  culprit,  he  made  up  his 
mind  that  a  somewhat  tardy  confession  might 
lighten  punishment.  So  he  fell  on  his  knees, 
confessed  that  he  had  wrongfully  abstracted  the 
king's  knight,  and  promised  that  he  never  would 
do  it  again.  Solomon  benignly  raised  him  and 
declared  that  he  was  forgiven,  in  virtue  of  his 
voluntary  confession;  and  then  he  went  on  to  tell 
the  disgusted  general  that  he  had  really  had  in  mind 
a  quite  different  matter  —  the  robbing,  namely, 

8  103 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

of  his  royal  treasure.  At  this  point  the  narrator 
remembers  that  the  two  robbers  were  left  in  a  most 
uncomfortable  and  gloomy  dungeon.  So  he  tells 
us  that  they  were  promptly  summoned  forth, 
and  that  their  worthless  heads  were  stricken  off 
before  the  king. 

To  be  quite  in  the  fashion,  there  is  a  flying- 
machine  story  of  King  Solomon  well  worth  re- 
peating. That  uxorious  king,  it  seems,  was  so 
beguiled  by  Pharaoh's  daughter,  who  was  one  of 
his  innumerable  loves,  that  he  learned  from  her 
the  pagan  chants  of  the  Egyptian  gods,  and, 
moreover,  was  so  charmed  with  them  that  he  used 
to  sing  them  until  he  forgot  the  true  Creator. 
At  this  point  he  determined  on  a  jaunt  in  his 
flying-machine,  which  was  evidently  a  monoplane, 
for  the  ancient  historian  describes  it  as  being  like 
a  flat,  square  carpet,  on  which  many  soldiers  were 
supported,  besides  their  king.  Suddenly,  as  they 
were  whirling  through  the  air,  the  winds  dropped 
away  from  them,  so  that  the  carpet  sagged  and 
the  soldiers  all  fell  off,  leaving  Solomon  alone. 
He  called  to  the  winds  to  come  back  again,  and 
bear  him  up.  But  the  winds,  evidently  instructed 
beforehand,  replied: 

"First  return  thou  to  the  true  Creator !" 
That  the  doubt  as  to  the  motor-power  of  that 
flying-machine  may  not  arise,  we  hasten  to  quote 
another  story  of  Solomon — that,  namely,  in  which 
he  is  represented  as  answering  the  riddles  of  the 
Queen  of  Sheba.  One  of  these  riddles  was :  "  What 
is  it  that  wails  before  the  wind,  bends  in  the  path 

104 


THE   WIT  AND   SATIRE   OF  THE  HEBREWS 

of  the  storm,  chokes  the  transgressor,  clothes  the 
wealthy,  kills  the  fish,  and  gives  food  to  the 
bird?" 

The  Queen  of  Sheba  thought  she  had  King  Solo- 
mon stumped  completely,  but  after  a  moment's 
thought  the  all -wise  one  smiled  and  answered: 
"Flax!  For  it  bends  before  the  wind,  makes  ropes 
to  hang  the  knave,  clothes  the  rich  man  in  fine 
linen,  makes  the  fishing-line,  and,  with  its  seed, 
nourishes  the  bird." 

The  Queen  of  Sheba  tried  again. 

"What  is  it,"  she  said,  "that  springs  up  out 
of  the  earth,  licks  up  the  dust,  and  illumines  the 
darkness  of  night?" 

King  Solomon  had  answered,  "Naphtha!"  al- 
most before  the  question  was  finished,  so  we  see 
that  he  was,  in  all  probability,  familiar  with  gas- 
olene also. 

We  all  remember  the  famed  occasion  on  which 
the  all-wise  king  "tried  to  settle  a  'spute  about  a 
baby  with  a  half  a  baby,"  but  there  is  in  the 
rabbinical  books  another  judgment  of  Solomon 
even  more  romantic  and  touching. 

A  certain  man,  it  seems,  had  sold  his  house  and 
received  payment.  The  purchaser,  exploring  the 
floor  of  the  cellar,  discovered  a  buried  treasure  and 
promptly  brought  it  to  the  former  owner  of  the 
house.  But  the  latter  as  promptly  refused  to  touch 
it,  saying  that  the  house  was  sold  and  the  price 
paid,  so  that  he  had  no  longer  the  slightest  claim 
to  anything  in  it.  The  dispute  between  the 
generous  purchaser  and  the  even  more  generous 

105 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

seller  waxed  hot,  until  at  last  they  decided  to  lay 
the  matter  before  the  great  king.  Solomon  heard 
them  out,  and  then  gave  judgment.  "The  buyer," 
he  said,  "has  a  son;  the  seller  has  a  daughter,  win- 
some and  of  suitable  age.  Go  to,  let  the  son  of  the 
one  marry  the  daughter,  and  the  treasure  shall 
assuredly  belong  to  their  offspring."  And  it  was 
so.  There  is  no  scriptural  warranty  for  this 
story,  but  surely  only  Solomon  could  have  so 
decided. 

Another  of  the  Queen  of  Sheba  stories  antici- 
pates or  parallels  the  tale  of  Appelles  and  the 
pictured  grapes  and  the  birds,  but  shows  nature's 
instinct  to  better  advantage.  The  Queen  of 
Sheba,  who  seems  to  have  had  a  Parisian  milliner, 
brought  to  the  king  two  wreaths,  and,  as  a  test  of 
his  wisdom,  asked  him  to  say  which  was  real  and 
which  was  false.  King  Solomon  smiled  one  of 
those  wise  smiles  of  his,  opened  the  window,  and 
let  in  a  bee.  The  bee  promptly  went  for  the 
real  wreath,  and  so  the  king  passed  his  test. 

Even  more  legally  refined  is  the  following  tale 
of  the  doings  of  a  dog.  A  certain  man,  it  is 
said,  set  a  cake  to  cook  on  his  fire;  a  dog  runs  in, 
snatches  away  the  cake  in  his  mouth  and  escapes, 
taking  the  cake  to  the  barn  of  a  neighbor  to  eat  it 
in  peace.  But  a  hot  ember  has  stuck  to  the  cake, 
and  this  sets  fire  to  the  barn,  which  burns  until 
all  is  consumed.  The  legal  question  now  arises, 
who  is  to  be  blamed  for  the  fire?  The  owner  of 
the  dog,  or  the  owner  of  the  oven  whence  came 
the  coal?  Some,  relying  on  the  legal  principle, 

106 


THE   WIT  AND   SATIRE  OF  THE  HEBREWS 

quod  facit  per  alium,  lay  all  blame  on  the  dog, 
and  therefore  on  his  owner;  others  maintain 
that  the  baker  was  at  fault,  because  he  allowed 
the  dog  to  obtain  access  to  his  fire;  yet  others,  who 
have  caught  some  spark  of  Solomon's  wisdom, 
say  the  damages  should  be  paid  equally  by  both. 
So  the  rabbis  go  at  it,  as  one  may  say,  hammer 
and  tongs;  but  it  does  not  occur  to  any  of  them  to 
ask  whether  that  barn  was  insured.  But  perhaps 
this  is  an  anachronism. 

There  is  a  tale  in  the  Talmud  of  a  stranger  who 
came  to  a  certain  city  bringing  rich  merchandise. 
Arriving  at  an  inn,  he  asked  for  lodging. 

"Come  to  my  house  as  a  guest/'  said  one  of  the 
wicked  citizens,  "and  no  payment  shall  be  charged 
you." 

The  stranger  accepted  this  unwonted  hos- 
pitality, but  in  the  morning  his  most  valuable 
merchandise  had  disappeared.  On  his  asking  the 
good  man  of  the  house  what  had  become  of  his 
merchandise,  his  host  declared  that  it  was  all  an 
evil  dream,  which  he  forthwith  proceeded  to 
expound. 

"It  is  no  dream,"  cried  the  indignant  merchant; 
"I  brought  such  and  such  goods  to  your  house, 
and  you  have  stolen  them!  Come  before  the 
judge." 

The  judge  heard  the  story  of  the  merchant,  and 
then  said:  "You  have  evidently  had  a  dream,  the 
meaning  of  which  your  host  has  interpreted  to 
you.  Pay  him  the  fee  for  interpreting  and 
be  gone!" 

107 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

Which  things  are  a  parable  of  what  befalls  those 
who  go  to  law.  Concerning  the  fair  sex,  there  are 
many  quaint  things  in  the  Talmud,  but  none, 
perhaps,  more  quaint  than  this:  Some  of  the 
rabbis  contend  that,  in  addition  to  the  relatives 
of  Abraham  whose  names  are  given  in  the  Bible, 
Abraham  must  have  had  a  daughter  also,  because 
it  is  written,  "God  blessed  him  in  all  things," 
and  surely  a  daughter  is  among  blessings.  But 
other  rabbis  contend  that  the  true  blessing  of 
Abraham  was  precisely  that  he  had  no  daughter, 
for  so  many  evils  may  befall  the  father  of  a  girl. 
She  may  fall  sick  in  childhood;  she  may  never 
marry;  or,  escaping  the  reproach  of  a  spinster, 
she  may  be  childless;  or,  finally,  if  she  pass  all 
other  dangers  safely  by,  she  may  be  a  witch  in  her 
old  age.  Hence  a  daughter  is  said  to  be  a  false 
treasure. 

There  is  one  more  legend  in  the  Talmud  con- 
cerning Adam,  which  is  worthy  of  citation.  The 
Adversary  of  mankind,  the  Serpent,  it  is  said, 
once  saw  Adam  reclining  at  his  ease  in  the  Garden 
of  Paradise,  with  angels  to  wait  on  him,  and  with 
the  fair  mother  of  all  future  men  resting  in  her 
loveliness  by  his  side.  The  Adversary  at  once 
became  furiously  jealous  of  Adam  and  determined 
to  kill  him  and  marry  Eve.  (One  is  tempted  to 
ask,  in  parentheses,  whether  it  is  not  possible  that 
he  succeeded.)  But  to  return  to  the  Talmudic 
legend.  Adam,  it  seems,  had  somewhat  exceeded 
his  mandate  and  had  told  Eve  that  not  only  must 
she  not  eat  of  the  fruit  of  the  tree  of  the  knowledge 

108 


THE   WIT  AND   SATIRE   OF  THE   HEBREWS 

of  good  and  evil,  but  that  she  must  not  even  touch 
the  fruit  or  even  a  branch  of  the  tree.  Here  the 
Adversary  saw  his  opportunity.  He  set  himself 
to  persuade  Eve  to  eat  of  the  fruit  of  the  tree, 
whereupon  she  told  him  that  she  was  afraid, 
knowing  that  if  she  so  much  as  touched  it  she 
was  doomed  to  instant  death.  So  the  Adversary 
bumped  her  up  against  the  tree  (as  he  has  done  at 
intervals  ever  since)  and  it  seemed  (as  it  has  since 
seemed)  that  no  evil  befell.  Eve  was  first  terror- 
stricken,  then  astonished,  then  curious.  So  the 
Adversary  easily  persuaded  her  to  taste  the  fruit, 
with  what  results  we  know. 

Eve,  it  is  said,  saw  the  Angel  of  Death  standing 
beside  the  tree,  and  said  to  herself,  "  Perhaps  now 
I  am  going  to  die,  and  the  Creator  will  give  Adam 
another  wife:  I  will  give  Adam  of  the  fruit,  and 
then  if  we  die  we  shall  die  together;  but  if  we  live, 
we  shall  live  together. "  After  he  was  driven  forth 
from  Eden,  Adam  was  given  a  garment  made  of 
the  skin  of  the  serpent,  and  set  to  toil  as  a  tiller 
of  the  earth. 

It  is  said  that  a  certain  Rabbi  Joshua  was  once 
out  walking  when  he  saw  a  little  girl  carrying  a 
basket  with  a  cover.  Humanlike,  he  went  over 
to  her  and  said,  "My  good  child,  what  is  in  the 
basket?" 

But  the  small  person  was  up  to  date. 

"If  mother  had  wanted  every  one  to  know  what 
was  in  the  basket,  do  you  think  she  would  have 
put  a  cover  on  it?"  she  replied. 

Doubtless  the  rabbi  murmured,  "Stung!"    But 

109 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

here,  perhaps,  we  have  the  kernel  of  that  inimita- 
ble yarn,  the  story  of  the  " imaginary  mongoose." 

Somewhat  similar  in  spirit'  is  the  tale  told  of 
Moses  Mendelssohn  when  he  was  caught  regaling 
himself  on  sweets  in  a  manner  more  befitting  a 
small  boy  than  a  sage. 

Said  one  to  him:  " Rabbi,  only  fools  are  fond  of 
sweets!" 

The  wise  old  man  smiled  a  cunning  smile,  licked 
his  fingers,  and  replied,  "My  son,  that  is  a  saying 
made  by  the  wise  so  that  they  may  keep  the  sweets 
for  themselves." 

To  come  now  to  more  modern  wit.  Heine,  it 
is  said,  once  declared  that  his  watch  was  a  better 
Hebrew  than  himself,  for  in  its  numerous  sojourns 
with  pawnbrokers  it  had  quite  outstripped  him 
in  learning  the  Hebrew  tongue,  and,  moreover, 
it  always  stopped  on  Saturdays. 

Another  wit  and  man  of  letters,  the  famous 
Saphir,  was  once  guilty  of  some  verbal  misde- 
meanor which  caused  him  to  be  banished  from  the 
territory  of  a  German  princelet. 

Saphir  retorted  by  saying:  "If  his  Highness 
will  deign  to  look  out  of  his  window,  he  will  see 
me  cross  the  frontier  of  his  dominions." 

That  same  Saphir  was  later  commanded  to  depart 
from  the  realm  of  Bavaria  without  a  moment's 
delay,  because  he  had  ventured  to  say  that  the 
King  of  Bavaria  wrote  very  bad  poems. 

"I  shall  go,"  he  said,  "and  if  my  own  feet  will  not 
carry  me  quick  enough,  I  shall  borrow  some  of  the 

superfluous  feet  from  his  Majesty's  verses." 

no 


THE  WIT  AND   SATIRE  OF  THE  HEBREWS 

To  this  same  wit  one  remarked  that  making 
debts  was  the  cause  of  ruin. 

"Not  at  all/7  said  Saphir;  "the  true  cause  of 
ruin  is  paying  debts." 

But  the  wittiest  thing  attributed  to  this  man  of 
pointed  words  is  this  criticism  of  a  bad  comedian: 
"Joking  apart,  he  is  a  fair  actor." 

Here  are  two  verbal  witticisms  at  the  expense 
of  great  Hebrews,  by  men  who  heartily  respected 
them.  The  first  was  directed  at  the  late  Sir 
Moses  Montefiore,  the  munificent  distributer  of 
charity.  When  he  died,  The  Spectator  closed 
a  rightly  laudatory  notice  of  his  life  by  saying 
that  Sir  Moses  was  too  great  a  man  for  his  works 
to  be  summarized  in  an  epigram;  no  one  could 
sum  him  up  in  a  bon  mot.  To  this  Punch  re- 
plied, "Perfectly  possible:  Bon  Moe!" 

The  same  frivolous  journal,  when  the  head  of 
the  Rothschild  family  took  the  oath  in  the  House 
of  Lords  with  head  reverently  covered,  ventured 
to  suggest  that  a  most  fitting  title  for  him  would 
be  Baron  Hatton. 

Let  me  balance  these  two  epigrams  with  one 
by  the  great  Hertzel,  the  Zionist  leader.  When 
some  one  was  indulging  in  witticisms  at  the 
expense  of  the  Zionist,  bantering  him  and  sug- 
gesting that  so  good  a  man  as  he  should  be  con- 
verted, Hertzel,  it  is  said,  replied  by  saying  that 
he  was  kept  back  by  the  example  of  a  good  friend 
of  his  who  had  died  and  gone  as  far  as  St.  Peter's 
gate.  There  he  was  stopped;  but,  as  he  was  such 

a  good  man,  he  was  not  sent  forthwith  to  the 

ill 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

nether  regions,  but  was  kept  as  a  kind  of  go- 
between,  running  errands  and  carrying  messages, 
and  thus  in  constant  touch  with  Peter  and  his 
assistants.  He  was  so  good  a  messenger  that 
the  general  opinion  of  the  gate  finally  demanded 
that  he  should  be  admitted.  Peter  was  quite 
willing,  said  Hertzel,  but  his  friend  never  got  in; 
for  they  searched  the  pearly  realm  in  vain  for  any 
one  to  baptize  him.  So  did  Hertzel  pay  old 
scores. 


VIII 

HUMOR  IN   THE   DAYS   OF  THE   PHARAOHS 

MOST  of  us  make  the  acquaintance  of  Egypt  in 
the  splendidly  dramatic  story  of  Joseph  and 
his  brethren,  and  so  come  to  look  on  Pharaoh  and 
his  people  as  gloomy  and  malign  persecutors  fit 
only  to  be  swallowed  up  in  the  Red  Sea  waves. 
Or  we  read  of  the  grave  and  sober  monuments  of 
the  Nile  Valley,  with  their  perpetual  reminders 
of  death  and  the  kingdom  of  Night;  with  the 
result  that  we  are  hardly  prepared  to  realize  the 
gay  and  lightsome  side  of  ancient  Egyptian  life, 
or  to  credit  the  thought  that  these  tomb-builders 
could  ever  break  into  a  smile.  But  there  was  a 
side  of  gaiety  and  of  charm,  and,  just  as  we  are 
finding  that  so  many  of  our  deeper  and  more 
philosophical  thoughts  go  back  to  the  people 
of  the  Delta,  so  we  are  beginning  to  discover 
the  originals  of  all  our  jokes  in  the  buried  cities  of 
the  Nile.  What,  for  instance,  could  be  more 
slyly  humorous  than  this  love-song,  recovered 
from  a  fragment  of  papyrus  dug  up  in  a  city 
dead  for  ages? 

"The  kisses  of  my  beloved,"  sings  the  lover 
of  old  Nile,  "are   on   the   farther   bank  of  the 

113 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

river;  an  arm  of  the  stream  flows  between  us,  and 
a  crocodile  lurks  on  the  sand-bank.  But  I  step 
down  into  the  water  and  plunge  into  the  flood. 
My  courage  is  high,  and  the  waves  are  as  firm 
ground  beneath  my  feet.  Love  of  her  sends  me 
strength.  She  has  given  me  a  spell  against  the 
waters.  When  I  kiss  her  half -open  lips,  I  need 
no  ale  to  inspire  me.  Would  that  I  were  the  ser- 
vant who  waits  on  her,  that  I  might  ever  behold 
her.  Her  love  pervades  me,  as  wine  in  water, 
as  the  fragrance  in  incense,  as  the  sap  in  the*  tree. 
Never  shall  I  be  severed  from  my  beloved,  though 
they  seek  to  drive  me  to  Syria  with  a  club,  to 
Nubia  with  a  cudgel,  to  the  mountains  with  whips, 
to  the  plains  with  switches.  I  lay  me  down  sick 
and  sorrowful,  and  my  neighbors  gather  sorrow- 
ing round  me.  Then  comes  my  beloved  and  puts 
the  physician  to  scorn,  for  she  knows  my  malady, 
and  how  to  cure  it." 

That  ladies  were  not  unduly  oppressed  in  the 
land  of  the  Pharaohs,  we  may  gather  from  this 
marriage  contract  from  a  fourth-century  demotic 
manuscript,  but  dating  in  form  to  far  older 
times : 

"I,"  says  the  Lady  Isis,  "take  thee  as  my  hus- 
band. Thou  makest  me  thy  wife,  and  givest  me, 
in  token  of  dower,  five  tenths  of  silver.  If  I 
discharge  thee  as  my  husband,  hating  thee  and 
loving  another  more  than  thee,  I  shall  give  and 
return  to  thee  two  and  a  half  tenths  of  silver  of 
what  thou  gavest  me  as  my  dower;  and  I  cede 
unto  thee,  of  all  and  everything  that  I  shall  ac- 

114 


HUMOR  IN  THE  DAYS  OF  THE  PHARAOHS 

quire  with  thee,  one  third  part,  as  long  as  thou  art 
married  unto  me." 

Not  even  Chicago  or  Reno  can  boast  of  a 
franker  marriage  contract  than  that;  and  there  is 
something  wonderfully  naive  in  the  idea  of  the 
good  Lady  Isis  "  discharging"  her  lord,  on  the 
ground  that  she  hates  him  and  loves  another 
better.  The  sum  she  returns  him,  as  part  of  her 
now  canceled  dower,  is  about  equal  to  a  silver 
dollar.  So  we  have  still  something  to  learn  in 
marital  levity  and  feminine  imperiousness. 

There  is  a  curious  little  Egyptian  fable,  of  the 
Cat  and  the  Jackal,  wherein  is  debated  the  ques- 
tion of  evil  and  an  overruling  Providence  who 
shapes  all  things  well.  The  Cat,  oddly  enough, 
is  on  the  side  of  the  angels,  being,  it  would  seem, 
the  symbol  of  the  benevolent  goddess  Bast.  The 
Cat,  first  speaking,  declares  that  this  world  is  ruled 
by  the  gods,  that  good  triumphs,  and  all  evil- 
doers are  punished.  The  sky,  says  the  pious  Cat, 
may  be  overclouded,  thunder-storms  may  blot 
out  the  light,  clouds  may  veil  the  sunrise.  But 
the  sun  will  rise  anon  and  scatter  the  darkness, 
bringing  light  and  joy  with  his  returning  beams. 

The  Jackal,  as  devil's  advocate,  makes  answer 
like  any  Darwinian.  Look,  he  says,  how  it  befalls 
in  the  world.  The  lizard  eats  the  insect,  the  bat 
eats  the  lizard,  the  snake  eats  the  bat,  the  hawk 
eats  the  snake,  and  so  on,  ad  infinitum.  Who 
truly  knows  that  vengeance  overtakes  the  sinner? 

The  manuscript  is  defective  at  this  point, 
Time,  with  devouring  tooth,  having  eaten  a  frag- 

115 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

ment  of  papyrus;  but  it  is  evident  that,  when 
the  Jackal  seemed  to  be  getting  the  better  of  the 
argument,  the  Cat  turned  the  scale  in  favor  of 
Providence  by  jumping  at  the  Jackal  and 
scratching  his  irreligious  face.  So  that  we  have 
advanced  not  a  whit  even  in  our  method  of  con- 
ducting transcendental  controversy. 

Another  fable  of  antique  Egypt  is  the  immortal 
dispute  between  the  Belly  and  the  Head,  as  to 
which  in  truth  does  most  for  the  welfare  of  the  body 
of  man.  The  case  is  tried  before  the  supreme 
tribunal  of  Egypt,  in  the  High  Court  of  the 
Thirty;  and  during  the  trial  the  presiding  judge 
weeps  bitterly. 

The  Head  opens  the  case  for  the  plaintiff  by 
saying,  "Mine  is  the  eye  that  sees,  mine  the  nose 
that  breathes,  mine  the  mouth  that  speaks;  I 
govern  and  direct  all."  The  answer  of  the  diges- 
tive organ  is  missing,  but  we  cannot  doubt  that 
the  argument  is  much  the  same  as  that  so  skil- 
fully used  by  the  antique  Roman,  Menenius 
Agrippa,  on  the  Sacred  Mount,  some  five  hun- 
dred years  later.  So  do  all  things  go  back  to 
Mother  Egypt. 

Very  characteristic  of  that  land  of  monuments 
is  the  proverb,  "Do  not  build  your  tomb  higher 
than  your  betters."  But  of  quite  universal  apt- 
ness and  application  is  the  saying,  "Go  not  walking 
with  a  fool."  There  is  a  deeper  note  in  such  an 
admonition  as  this:  "If  thou  art  an  intelligent 
man,  bring  up  thy  son  in  the  love  of  God.  If  he 
is  courageous  and  active,  reward  him.  But  if  he 

116 


HUMOR  IN  THE  DAYS  OF  THE  PHARAOHS 

is  a  fool,  turn  not  thy  heart  against  him."  And 
in  somewhat  the  same  vein  of  serious  piety  is 
this,  "If,  after  having  been  humble,  thou  hast 
grown  powerful,  the  first  man  of  thy  city  in 
wealth,  let  not  riches  make  thee  arrogant,  for 
the  prime  author  of  thy  good  things  is  God." 

We  can  see  a  certain  present  application  of  the 
saying:  "The  hunter  who  goeth  forth  into  a  strange 
land  bequeaths  his  goods  to  his  children.  He 
fears  lions  and  barbarous  men."  And  we  might 
almost  believe  that  there  was  deliberate  intent, 
and  allusion  to  our  time,  in  the  excellent  tale  of 
The  Insurgent  of  Joppa  and  Pharaoh's  Big  Stick. 

There  was  once,  says  the  tale,  in  the  time  of 
the  Pharaoh  Men-kheper-ra,  a  revolt  of  the  ser- 
vants of  his  Majesty  who  were  in  Joppa,  and  his 
Majesty  said,  "Let  Tahutia  go  with  his  footmen 
and  destroy  these  wicked  Insurgents." 

And  Pharaoh  called  one  of  his  servants,  and  said, 
"Hide  thou  my  Big  Stick  which  worketh  wonders 
in  the  baggage  of  Tahutia,  that  my  power  may  go 
with  him." 

Now  when  Tahutia  came  nigh  to  Joppa,  with 
all  the  footmen  of  Pharaoh,  he  sent  to  the  chief 
Insurgent  of  Joppa,  and  said,  "Behold,  his 
Majesty  King  Men-kheper-ra  has  sent  this 
great  army  against  thee;  but  what  is  that  if  my 
heart  is  as  thy  heart?  Do  thou  come,  and  let 
us  talk  in  the  field,  and  see  each  other  face  to 
face." 

So  Tahutia,  with  certain  of  his  men,  met 
with  the  chief  Insurgent  of  Joppa,  and  they 

117 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

spoke  with  one  another  in  the  great  tent.  But 
Tahutia  had  made  ready  two  hundred  sacks  with 
cords  and  fetters  and  had  hid  them  in  his  tent. 

Then  said  the  chief  Insurgent  of  Joppa:  "My 
heart  is  set  on  examining  the  Big  Stick  of  Men- 
kheper-ra.  By  the  soul  of  Pharaoh,  let  it  be  in 
my  hands  this  day!  Do  thou  well,  and  bring 
it  to  me!" 

And  Tahutia,  the  general  of  Pharaoh,  did 
so,  and  brought  the  Big  Stick  of  King  Men- 
kheper-ra,  and  he  laid  hold  on  the  garment  of 
the  Insurgent  of  Joppa,  and  he  arose  and  stood 
up,  and  Tahutia  said,  "0  Insurgent  of  Joppa,  here 
is  the  Big  Stick  of  Pharaoh,  that  terrible  lion  to 
whom  Amen  his  father  has  given  power  and 
strength!" 

And  as  the  Insurgent  of  Joppa  bent  forward 
to  touch  the  Big  Stick,  Tahutia  raised  it  on 
high  and  struck  the  Insurgent  of  Joppa  upon 
the  poll,  so  that  he  fell  helpless  before  him.  And 
Tahutia  put  him  in  a  sack,  with  gyves  on  his 
hands  and  fetters  on  his  feet.  The  tale  goes  on 
to  tell  how  Tahutia,  by  strategy,  smuggled  two 
hundred  of  his  best  men  into  Joppa  done  up  in 
sacks  and  labeled  "  Baggage,"  and  how  they 
seized  the  city,  so  that  Joppa  fell;  but  what  be- 
came of  the  Insurgent  in  the  sack  and  the  Big 
Stick  of  Pharaoh  the  chronicler  sayeth  not. 

There  is  another  quaint  little  tale,  of  the 
Doomed  Prince,  which  has  elements  both  of  humor 
and  of  pathos.  It  is  obviously  a  fairy-tale  rather 
than  a  veritable  history.  The  tale  relates  that, 

118 


HUMOR  IN  THE  DAYS  OF  THE  PHARAOHS 

on  the  birth  of  a  certain  prince  of  Egypt,  the 
Seven  Hathors,  declarers  of  destiny,  announced 
that  the  prince  was  fated  to  perish  through  three 
things — a  crocodile,  a  serpent,  and  a  dog.  So  the 
king  sent  the  prince  away  to  a  desert  place,  to 
be  brought  up  under  ward  and  watch,  so  that  his 
three  dooms  might  not  come  nigh  him. 

One  day,  being  well  grown,  the  prince  was  on  the 
house-top  when  he  saw  a  man  walking,  with  a  dog 
trotting  after  him.  And  the  heart  of  the  prince 
moved  in  sympathy,  and  he  cried  out  that  he,  too, 
wanted  a  playmate  like  that.  So  his  Majesty 
said,  "Let  there  be  brought  to  him  a  little  pet 
dog,  lest  his  heart  be  sad!"  And  it  was  so,  and 
the  prince  grew,  and  the  dog  grew  with  him. 

Then,  after  many  days,  the  heart  of  the  prince 
grew  restless,  and  he  said,  "Inasmuch  as  I  am 
fated  to  three  evil  fates,  let  me  follow  my  desire; 
let  God  do  to  me  what  is  in  His  heart!" 

So  he  went  forth,  taking  his  dog  with  him,  and 
betook  him  northward  across  the  desert,  and  his 
little  dog  went  with  him.  And  they  came  to  the 
land  of  the  chief  of  Naharaina.  There  was  there 
a  tower  seventy  cubits  high  and  with  seventy 
windows,  and  in  the  topmost  chamber  of  this 
tower  the  chief  of  Naharaina  had  put  his  daughter, 
and  had  made  proclamation  that  whoever  of  the 
princes  should  climb  to  her  window  should  have 
her  hand  in  marriage.  So  they  all  clomb,  but  none 
could  reach  her  window. 

But  the  Doomed  Prince,  seeing  them  climbing, 

asked  what  it  might  mean,  and  when  they  had 
9  119 


WHY  THE   WORLD  LAUGHS 

answered,  he  too  clomb,  and  in  due  time  reached 
the  window  of  the  princess.  And  her  heart  went 
out  to  him  utterly,  and  was  as  water  within  her 
breast.  But  the  chief  of  Naharaina  was  wroth, 
and  would  not  give  her  to  a  wanderer. 

But  the  maiden  made  answer,  "By  the  being 
of  Ra,  and  thou  give  him  not  to  me,  I  will 
straightway  die!" 

So  he  gave  her  to  him,  and  her  heart  was  well 
content.  And  as  he  was  sleeping  one  day,  there 
came  the  first  of  his  dooms,  a  poisonous  serpent, 
and  would  have  bitten  him.  But  the  princess, 
his  spouse,  brought  a  bowl  of  milk  and  set  it 
before  the  serpent ;  and  when  it  was  filled  with  milk 
and  turned  over,  she  smote  it  with  a  dagger,  so 
the  first  doom  was  stayed.  Then  came  a  great 
crocodile  and  pursued  him,  but  a  strong  man  of 
the  city  bound  it,  and  so  the  second  doom  was 
stayed.  But  one  day  the  prince  went  out  to 
walk,  taking  his  little  dog  with  him — and  there 
the  papyrus  is  broken,  so  that  we  shall  never  know, 
perchance,  how  it  befell  with  the  pup,  and  how  the 
doom  descended  upon  them. 

There  are  many  tales  of  the  magicians  of  Egypt, 
like  Jannes  and  Jambres,  who  withstood  Moses, 
and  of  their  contests  with  the  evil  magicians  of 
Ethiopia,  the  land  of  darkness.  One  of  these 
relates  that  there  was  once  a  powerful  magician 
of  Ethiopia  who  molded  of  wax  a  litter  and 
four  bearers,  and  said  charms  over  them  so  that 
they  came  to  life.  Then  he  sent  them  down  the 

Nile  to  Memphis,  and  they  kidnapped  Pharaoh 

120 


HUMOR  IN  THE  DAYS  OF  THE  PHARAOHS 

and  brought  him  to  the  magician  of  Ethiopia. 
The  magician  gave  him  five  hundred  blows  of  a 
cudgel  and  sent  him  home  again.  Then  Horus, 
the  magician  of  Egypt,  with  whom  was  the  magic 
book  of  Thoth,  wrought  a  more  potent  charm,  and 
kidnapped  the  magician  of  Ethiopia,  and  gave  him 
a  thousand  blows.  So  the  heart  of  Pharaoh  was 
glad,  and  he  rewarded  Horus  the  magician,  and 
they  bound  over  the  magician  of  Ethiopia  to  keep 
the  peace  for  two  hundred  years. 

But  the  most  serious  effort  in  humorous  tales  of 
magic  is  one  most  venerable,  which  goes  back  to 
the  time  before  the  great  pyramid  was  built, 
and  is,  indeed,  concerned  with  that  Pharaoh 
whom  the  Greeks  later  called  Cheops,  who  built 
the  pyramid.  One  day,  says  the  tale,  when  King 
Khufu  reigned  over  all  the  land  of  Egypt,  over  the 
Upper  Land  and  over  the  Delta,  he  said  to  his 
minister  who  stood  before  him,  "Go,  call  my  sons 
and  my  councilors,  that  I  may  ask  of  them  a 
certain  thing !"  And  the  sons  and  councilors 
of  King  Khufu  stood  before  him,  and  he  said  to 
them,  "Know  ye  a  man  who  can  tell  me  tales  of 
the  deeds  of  the  magicians?" 

Then  the  royal  son  Khafra  stood  forth,  the  same 
whom  the  Greeks  were  to  call  Cephren,  who  later 
built  the  second  pyramid,  and  he  spoke  to  King 
Khufu,  saying,  "I  will  relate  to  thy  Majesty 
a  tale  of  thy  forefather  Nebka  the  blessed;  and  of 
what  came  to  pass  when  he  went  into  the  temple 
of  Ptah  of  Ankhtaul." 

Then   the   prince   narrated   how  his  Majesty 
121 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

Nebka  was  walking  in  the  temple  of  Ptah  and 
how  he  went  into  the  house  of  Uba-aner,  the 
chief  reciter  of  magic  charms,  with  his  train 
of  servants.  And  it  befell  that  the  wife  of  the 
chief  reciter  Uba-aner  looked  upon  one  of  the 
pages  who  stood  behind  the  king,  and  her  heart 
went  out  to  him.  So  she  sent  for  the  page  at  a 
convenient  hour,  and  they  caroused  together  in 
the  garden-house.  But  Uba-aner,  chief  reciter 
of  charms,  knew  it,  and  he  made  a  crocodile  of 
wax,  and  breathed  upon  it,  and  it  became  alive 
and  grew  to  seven  cubits  in  length,  and  came 
forth  upon  that  carousing  page,  and  carried  him 
off  to  a  deep  lake  in  the  garden,  and  he  was  seen 
no  more.  But  Uba-aner  burned  up  his  faithless 
spouse  with  fire,  and  strewed  her  ashes  upon  the 
lake. 

His  Majesty  Khufu,  the  King  of  Upper  and 
Lower  Egypt,  then  said,  "Let  offering  be  made  to 
King  Nebka  the  blessed — namely,  a  thousand 
loaves  and  a  hundred  draughts  of  beer,  an  ox  and 
two  jars  of  incense;  and  let  an  offering  be  made  to 
the  chief  reciter  Uba-aner — namely,  a  loaf,  a  draught 
of  beer,  a  jar  of  incense,  and  a  piece  of  meat.  For 
I  have  seen  the  token  of  his  learning."  And  they 
did  all  things  as  his  Majesty  Khufu  commanded. 

Then  the  royal  son  Bau-f-ra  stood  forth  and 
spake,  saying,  "I  will  tell  thy  Majesty  of  a 
wonder  which  came  to  pass  in  the  days  of  thy 
father  Senefru  the  blessed,  and  of  the  deeds  of  the 
chief  reciter  of  charms,  Zazamankh.  One  day, 

O  King!  thy  father  King  Senefru,  being  weary, 

122 


HUMOR  IN  THE  DAYS  OF  THE  PHARAOHS 

went  throughout  his  palace  seeking  for  a  pleasure 
to  lighten  his  heart,  but  he  found  none.  And  he 
said,  '  Haste  and  bring  before  me  the  chief  reciter 
of  charms,  the  scribe  of  the  rolls,  Zazamankh.' 
And  they  straightway  brought  him,  and  the  king 
said,  '  I  have  sought  in  my  palace  for  some  delight, 
but  I  have  found  none.7 

"Then  said  Zazamankh  to  him,  'Let  thy 
Majesty  go  upon  the  lake  of  the  palace,  and  let 
there  be  made  ready  a  boat,  with  fair  maidens 
of  the  palace  to  row,  and  the  heart  of  thy 
Majesty  shall  be  glad  at  the  sight  of  them,  and 
thou  shalt  be  refreshed  in  seeing  them  row  up 
and  down  upon  the  water,  and  in  seeing  the  birds 
upon  the  lake,  and  beholding  the  sweet  fields  and 
grassy  shores.  Thus  will  thy  heart  be  delighted 
and  made  glad!' 

"So  they  brought  a  boat,  with  twenty  oars  of 
ebony  inlaid  with  gold,  and  twenty  maidens  fair 
of  form  to  row  it,  and  all  was  done  according  to 
his  Majesty's  commands. 

"They  rowed  down  the  stream  and  up  the 
stream,  and  the  heart  of  his  Majesty  was  glad  at 
the  sight  of  their  rowing.  But  one  of  the  maidens 
at  the  steering  oar  struck  her  hair  with  the  end  of 
the  oar,  so  that  her  jewel  of  new  malachite  fell 
into  the  water.  So  she  ceased  her  song,  and  rowed 
not.  And  her  companions  likewise  ceased,  and 
rowed  not.  Then  his  Majesty  Senefru  said: 

"'Row  you  not  farther?' 

"And  they  answered,  'Our  little  steerer  here 
steers  no  longer;  therefore  we  row  not!' 

123 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

"So  his  Majesty  said, ' Wherefore  rowest  thou 
not?' 

"And  she  replied,  ' Because  of  my  jewel  of  new 
malachite,  which  is  fallen  in  the  water!7 

"And  his  Majesty  said,  'Row  on,  for  behold,  I 
will  replace  it.' 

"But  she  answered,  'I  want  my  own  jewel  back 
again!' 

"His  Majesty  sought  to  persuade  her,  saying 
he  would  make  it  good  for  her,  but  she  was  firm 
and  would  not.  So  Zazamankh,  chief  reciter  of 
charms,  stood  up,  and  spake  a  mighty  charm  from 
the  book  of  Thoth,  and  behold!  the  waters  of  the 
lake  were  divided  in  two,  and  one  half  lay  on 
the  other  half,  so  that  what  was  before  twelve 
cubits  deep  was  now  four  and  twenty  cubits,  and 
the  other  half  of  the  lake  was  dry.  And  behold! 
they  found  the  jewel  of  malachite  lying  in  a  shell, 
and  the  maid  got  it  back  again,  and  her  heart 
was  glad.  And  the  heart  of  his  Majesty  Senefru 
was  glad  also.  So  the  reciter  spake  a  reverse 
charm,  and  the  waters  came  back  again  into  place, 
and  all  was  well." 

When  his  Majesty  Khufu  had  commended  the 
tale  and  bade  make  offering  for  King  Senefru 
and  for  Zazamankh  the  reciter,  the  royal  son 
Hordedef  stood  forth  and  spake,  "0  King,  and 
my  most  august  father!  Hitherto  hast  thou 
heard  only  tales  of  those  who  have  gone  before 
and  of  which  no  man  knoweth  the  truth.  But 
I  will  show  thy  Majesty  a  man  of  thy  own 
days." 

124 


HUMOR  IN  THE  DAYS  OF  THE  PHARAOHS 

And  his  Majesty  Khufu  said,  "Who  is  he,  O 
my  son  Hordedef?" 

And  the  royal  son  Hordedef  answered,  "It  is  a 
certain  man  named  Dedi,  who  dwells  at  Dedsne- 
feru.  He  is  a  man  one  hundred  and  ten  years 
old,  and  he  eats  each  day  five  hundred  loaves 
of  bread  and  a  side  of  beef,  and  drinks  each  day 
a  hundred  draughts  of  beer,  even  unto  this  day. 
He  knows  how  to  restore  the  head  that  is  smitten 
off;  he  knows  how  to  make  the  roaring  lion  follow 
him;  he  knows  the  designs  of  the  dwelling  of 
Thoth.  The  Majesty  of  the  King  of  Upper  and 
Lower  Egypt,  Khufu  the  blessed,  has  long  sought 
for  the  designs  of  the  dwelling  of  Thoth,  that  he 
may  make  the  like  of  them  in  his  pyra- 
mid I" 

And  his  Majesty  the  King  said,  "Let  him  be 
brought!" 

Then  were  ships  made  ready,  and  they  went  up 
the  Nile  to  Dedsneferu,  bearing  the  prince  Hor- 
dedef; and  the  ships  were  moored  by  the  bank  of 
the  Nile,  and  Hordedef  went  forth,  borne  in  a 
litter  of  ebony,  whose  pole  was  of  cedar  wood 
inlaid  with  gold,  and  he  drew  near  to  Dedi,  the 
magician.  Leaving  the  litter,  Hordedef  went  forth 
to  greet  Dedi,  and  found  him  lying  on  a  couch 
of  palm  wood  at  the  door  of  his  house;  one  ser- 
vant held  his  head  and  rubbed  him,  and  another 
rubbed  his  feet,  for  he  was  very  old.  So  the  king's 
son  persuaded  him,  and  brought  him  in  his  ships 
to  Khufu' s  royal  palace. 

And  his  Majesty  asked  him  whether  he  could 

125 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

indeed  unite  the  head  that  was  severed  from  the 
body,  and  he  said,  "Even  so,  O  King!'7 

So  King  Khufu  would  have  had  a  slave  brought 
and  beheaded,  but  Dedi  said  that  it  was  not 
right  to  deal  thus  with  a  man.  So  they  brought 
instead  a  duck.  And  they  cut  its  head  off,  and 
laid  the  head  at  one  side  of  the  palace  and  the 
body  at  the  other  side.  And  Dedi  spake  a  charm 
of  great  potency  and  might,  and  the  head  and 
the  body  waggled  toward  each  other  and  came 
together,  fitting  well.  And  the  duck  shook  its 
head  and  quacked  right  pleasantly,  and  the 
King  was  glad  and  commended  Dedi. 

They  did  likewise  with  a  goose  and  with  a 
bullock;  and  the  bullock  came  together  again 
and  went  to  Dedi,  trailing  his  halter  behind 
him. 

So  King  Khufu  commanded  that  Dedi  be  re- 
warded; and  they  gave  him  a  thousand  loaves 
and  a  thousand  sides  of  meat  and  a  thousand 
measures  of  beer  and  a  hundred  bunches  of 
onions.  And  Dedi  consumed  them,  and  his 
heart  was  glad. 


IX 

THE  HUMOR  OF  THE  OLD  TURKS 

ONE  of  the  quaintest  and  most  amusing  tales  I 
have  read  in  many  a  day,  I  have  just  found  in 
a  delightful  little  old  leather-bound  volume  of 
Turkish  stories;  a  volume,  indeed,  so  old  that 
its  leaves  are  brown  with  many  autumns,  while  on 
an  extra  page  at  the  end  the  publisher  announces 
an  edition  of  the  works  of  "the  late  famous  Mr. 
John  Dryden,"  in  four  folio  volumes,  as  well  as 
a  new  poem  by  Mr.  Addison  dedicated  to  "her 
Grace  the  Dutchess  of  Marlborough,"  entitled 
"  The  Campaign."  The  author  of  this  little  book 
is  at  great  pains  to  assure  us  that  it  is  authentically 
Turkish,  and  not  the  bare  invention  of  some 
Frenchman;  since  it  was  written  by  his  tutor  for 
the  young  Amurath,  whose  son  Mohammed 
conquered  Constantinople  and  turned  Saint  Sophia 
into  a  Moslem  mosque.  The  good  tutor's  pur- 
pose was  edification;  and,  more  specifically,  he 
sought  to  arm  the  young  Amurath  against  woman- 
kind, to  whom  he  already  perceived  the  prince 
too  much  addicted.  It  is  no  wonder,  therefore, 
that  the  good  tutor  chose  one  of  those  plots  of  the 
immemorial  East  which  opens  the  way  for  all 

127 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

the  pros  and  cons  of  the  wicked  sex;  a  plot  wherein 
the  Sultan's  seventh  wife  falls  in  love  with  the 
young  prince  her  stepson  and  mirthfully  proposes 
to  him  to  murder  the  old  man  and  reign  in  his 
stead,  always,  be  it  understood,  with  the  help  and 
close  companionship  of  the  lady.  This  is,  indeed, 
matter  to  instruct  the  too  addicted  Amurath;  and 
the  occasion  is  improved  by  the  recital,  on  the 
part  of  the  lady  and  of  the  viziers,  of  many 
sententious  stories  showing  the  high  virtue  or 
else  the  utter  depravity  of  womankind.  I  forget 
which  party  tells  the  tale  that  particularly  struck 
my  fancy,  but  here  it  is. 

It  seems  that  one  of  the  Sultans  was  gathering 
taxes  from  his  Christian  provinces,  and  that  a 
clever  monk,  anticipating  our  own  malefactors  of 
great  wealth,  declared  that  he  had  thought  out  a 
way  to  swear  off  the  tax,  and  begged  the  Christians 
to  send  him  to  the  Sultan.  Which  they  accor- 
dingly did.  When  the  monk  came  to  the  mon- 
arch, he  made  him  a  profound  obeisance,  and 
said: 

"  Sir,  we  consent  to  pay  your  tax,  on  condition 
that  your  Majesty,  your  viziers,  or  your  doctors 
will  answer  one  question  which  I  shall  propose; 
but  if  none  answer  it,  I  entreat  that  you  will  not 
be  displeased  that  I  return  without  paying  it." 

Replied  the  Sultan: 

"  I  am  content.  I  have  very  learned  men  in 
my  court,  and  your  question  must  be  very  diffi- 
cult if  none  of  them  can  answer  it." 

The    king,    after    having    summoned    all    his 

128 


THE  HUMOR   OF  THE  OLD  TURKS 

viziers  and  doctors,  said  to  the  monk:  "  Christian, 
what  is  thy  question?" 

The  monk  then,  opening  the  five  fingers  of  his 
right  hand,  showed  its  palm;  and  then,  inclining 
his  fingers  to  the  ground,  "Tell  me,"  says  he, 
"what  this  signifies.  That  is  my  question." 

"As  for  me,"  saith  the  king,  "I  quit  all  thoughts 
of  it,  and  own  that  I  can't  guess  at  it;  and  to 
speak  freely,  it  doth  not  seem  easy  to  be  an- 
swered." 

The  thoughts  of  all  the  viziers  and  doctors 
were  employed  with  utmost  intention;  but, 
though  they  had  recollected  the  substance  of  the 
Commentaries  of  the  Alkoran  as  well  as  the 
traditions  of  Mohammed,  they  could  not  answer 
the  monk.  They  all  continued  shamefully  silent, 
when  at  last  one  among  them,  enraged  to  see  so 
many  great  men  confounded  by  an  infidel,  stepped 
forward  and  said  to  the  king: 

"  Sir,  it  was  needless  to  summon  so  many  per- 
sons for  such  a  mean  trifle;  let  the  monk  propose 
his  question  to  me,  and  I  will  answer  it." 

The  monk  at  the  same  time  showed  his  open 
hand  with  his  finger  tending  upward  to  the  Mo- 
hammedan doctor,  who  showed  him  his  right  hand 
closed;  the  monk  then  turned  his  fingers  down- 
ward, and  the  doctor  opened  his  hand  and  turned 
his  fingers  upward.  The  monk,  satisfied  with  the 
gestures  of  the  Mussulman  doctor,  drew  from 
under  his  robe  the  purse  in  which  was  the  trib- 
ute, gave  it  to  the  king,  and  retired. 

The   monarch  was    curious    to   know    of   the 

129 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

doctor  what  all  these  actions  of  the  hand  sig- 
nified. 

"  O  King,"  answered  the  doctor,  "when  the  monk 
showed  his  hand  open  it  was  to  signify  these 
words:  '  I  will  give  you  a  slap  on  the  face/  I 
then  immediately  shut  my  hand,  to  give  him  to  un- 
derstand that  if  he  struck  me  I  would  give  him  a 
blow  with  my  fist.  He  then  lowered  his  hand  and 
turned  the  ends  of  his  fingers  downward,  to  express 
these  words :  '  Well,  if  you  strike  me  with  your  fist, 
I  will  lay  you  at  my  feet  and  tread  upon  you  like 
a  worm/  I  then  instantly  turned  the  ends  of  my 
fingers  up,  to  answer  him  that  if  he  used  me  thus, 
I  would  throw  him  up  so  high  that  the  birds 
should  eat  him  before  he  fell  to  the  ground.  And 
it  was  by  this  means,"  continued  he,  "that  the 
Christian  and  I  perfectly  understood  each  other." 

The  doctor  had  scarce  left  speaking  when  an 
approving  hum  arose  in  the  assembly,  very  much 
to  his  applause.  All  the  viziers  admired  his 
penetration;  and  all  the  doctors,  though  soured 
at  their  own  inability  to  explain  the  monk's 
gestures,  owned  aloud  that  their  brother  was  more 
able  than  themselves.  But  the  king,  more  charmed 
than  the  rest,  could  not  recover  his  surprise; 
he  looked  upon  the  doctor  as  a  very  extraordinary 
person,  and  did  not  content  himself  with  be- 
stowing large  praises  upon  him,  but,  opening  the 
purse  which  the  monk  had  presented  to  him,  he 
took  out  five  hundred  sequins  and  clapped  them 
into  his  hands,  saying: 

"Take  them,  Doctor.    Since  you  are  the  cause 

130 


THE  HUMOR  OF  THE  OLD  TURKS 

of  the  Christians  paying  me  this  tax,  it  is  just  that 
you  should  be  sensible  of  my  gratitude." 

After  this  the  king,  wholly  taken  up  with  his 
adventure,  went  to  the  queen  his  wife,  and  told 
her  of  it.  That  lady,  who  abounded  with  good 
sense  and  judgment,  heard  the  king  with  great 
attention,  but  as  soon  as  he  had  done,  burst  out 
into  such  a  laughter  that  she  fell  down  on  a  sofa, 
holding  her  sides. 

"I  find,"  says  the  king,  "the  story  very  much 
diverts  you." 

"What  is  most  comical  in  it,"  replies  the  queen, 
"is  that  you  are  your  doctor's  bubble." 

"What  you  tell  me,  madam,  is  impossible," 
replied  the  monarch. 

"My  lord,"  returned  the  lady,  "send  im- 
mediately for  the  monk.  I  say  no  more." 

The  king  instantly  sent  his  officers  to  search 
whether  he  was  yet  in  the  city,  and  he  was  found 
just  ready  to  return  home.  He  was  brought 
to  the  king  and  queen. 

"Christian,"  said  the  lady,  "our  doctor  hath 
discovered  the  sense  of  your  riddle,  but  we  desire 
that  you  would  yourself  expound  it." 

"O  Queen,"  said  the  monk,  "when  I  showed 
my  five  fingers  opened,  I  meant  these  words: 
'I  ask  you,  Mussulmans,  whether  those  five  prayers 
which  you  make  are  appointed  by  the  order  of 
God?7  Then  your  doctor  showed  me  his  fist  to 
express  that  they  were,  and  he  was  ready  to  main- 
tain the  assertion.  I  then,  by  turning  my  fingers 
to  the  ground,  asked  him,  'Wherefore  doth  the 

131 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

rain  fall  upon  the  earth?'  To  which  he  answered, 
very  judiciously,  but  turning  his  fingers  upward, 
that  it  rained  to  draw  up  the  grass  and  make  all 
plants  grow.  And  this  answer  is  in  your  books." 

The  monk,  after  this  explication,  being  gone, 
the  queen  renewed  her  excessive  laughter;  and 
the  king,  convinced  that  she  was  not  in  the 
wrong,  protested  that  for  the  future  he  would 
always  distrust  his  doctors  and  never  suffer 
himself  to  be  bubbled  by  their  false  merit. 

So  far,  the  reflection  of  the  king;  but  I  have  a 
feeling  that  I  should  like  to  see  a  game  of  draw- 
poker  between  the  monk  who  originally  thought 
up  that  artful  scheme  to  swear  off  his  taxes,  the 
doctor  who  bluffed  him  into  paying  them,  and 
the  lady  queen  who  called  the  bluff.  Hardly  less 
quaint  than  the  tale  itself  is  the  use  of  the  word 
" bubble  "  for  a  swindle  or  a  dupe;  but  those  were 
the  days  of  the  South  Sea  Scheme  and  the  Missis- 
sippi Company,  both  of  which  proved  themselves 
to  be  "  bubbles,77  in  the  swindling  sense.  I  have 
a  notion  that  the  word  might  be  revived  and  sent 
down  to  Wall  Street. 

That  tale  is  not  genuinely  Turkish,  even 
though  it  comes  out  of  a  book  of  Turkish  tales; 
it  is  rather  Arabic  or  Persian  in  flavor.  It  lacks 
the  characteristic  tang  of  the  Ottomans,  for  a 
genuine  Turkish  jest,  like  the  philosophizing  of 
the  late  David  Harum,  must  have  something 
about  horse  in  it;  otherwise  it  is  counterfeit.  For 
it  was  as  a  tribe  of  horsemen  that  the  Turks  first 
galloped  into  history;  and  their  coming  was  some- 

132 


THE  HUMOR  OF  THE  OLD  TURKS 

thing  of  a  jest.  It  happened  that  one  of  the  princes 
of  Asia  Minor,  who  rejoiced  in  the  title  of  Aladdin 
Kaikobad,  was  warring  against  invading  Mongols, 
and  was  getting  the  worst  of  the  encounter.  A 
band  of  Turkish  tribesmen  on  their  steeds  were 
passing  that  way,  and  stopped  to  watch  the  pretty 
fight.  Then,  seeing  that  one  side  was  getting 
licked,  they  promptly  pitched  in  and  fought  for 
them  without  the  least  knowing  who  they  or 
then:  opponents  might  be.  They  fought  so  well 
for  their  unknown  friends  that  the  Mongols  were 
driven  off  the  field,  and  Kaikobad,  in  ill-advised 
gratitude,  granted  to  the  Turkish  leader  a  princi- 
pality, with  the  pasturages  of  Mount  Tumani 
for  his  herds.  That  settled  it.  The  Turks,  once 
they  had  gained  a  footing,  never  rested  till  they 
had  won  the  empire  of  the  East  and  pushed  their 
armies  up  the  Danube  to  Vienna.  Even  the 
method  of  their  conquest  had  something  of  humor 
in  it,  for,  to  fight  the  Christians,  they  formed  a 
regiment  of  youths,  kidnapped  as  children  from 
Christian  homes,  and  "  turned  Turk,"  before 
they  were  wise  enough  to  know  better.  These 
were  the  first  of  the  famous  Janizaries,  whose 
name  was  once  a  terror  to  all  Christendom. 

There  was  something  humorous — if,  indeed,  the 
jest  was  not  too  grim  to  be  called  humor — in  that 
dispute  of  the  Sultan  Mohammed  the  Second  with 
the  graceful  Italian  painter,  Gentile  Bellini. 
The  artist  had  depicted  a  dissevered  head,  prob- 
ably that  which  Salome  carried  on  a  dish;  and 
the  Sultan  said  the  muscles  of  the  neck  were  all 

133 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

wrong,  and  that  a  dissevered  head  should'  not 
have  a  neck.  I  suppose  the  picture,  like  the 
head  on  the  "  Mikado,"  was  standing  on  its 
neck  and  so  outraged  the  Sultan's  sense  of  artistic 
verisimilitude.  At  any  rate,  the  Sultan  picked 
out  a  slave  with  an  attractive  neck,  and  had  him 
beheaded  on  the  spot.  Then  he  turned  with  a 
winning  smile  to  Gentile  Bellini  and  said,  "I 
told  you  so!"  Which  things  happened  some 
twenty-five  or  thirty  years  after  the  fall  of  Con- 
stantinople. 

But  your  true  Turkish  joke,  as  I  said,  must 
have  something  about  horse  in  it.  Indeed,  there 
are  countless  wise  and  witty  saws  that  turn  on 
horses,  and  they  are  one  of  the  most  characteristic 
things  in  Ottoman  literature.  Take,  for  instance, 
this,  "  Place  no  trust  in  horse  or  woman."  Or 
this,  "Tend  your  horse  as  a  friend;  mount  him 
as  an  enemy."  Very  graphic  is  this  symbolism 
for  misfortune,  "He  has  dismounted  from  his 
horse  and  mounted  a  donkey."  And  somewhat 
in  the  same  vein,  though  more  sardonic,  is  the 
saying,  "For  him  who  has  fallen  from  a  horse, 
medicine;  for  him  who  has  fallen  from  a  camel,  a 
pickax  and  spade";  meaning  that  he  is  a  case,  not 
for  the  surgeon,  but  for  the  undertaker.  To  ex- 
press the  contrast  between  things  temporal  and 
things  eternal  the  Turks  say,  "The  horse  dies,  the 
race-course  remains."  And  to  depict  the  complete 
incongruity  and  perversity  of  things  they  have 
this  proverb,  "The  horse  is  here,  but  there  is  no 
race-course;  the  race-course  is  here,  but  there  is  no 

134 


THE  HUMOR  OF  THE  OLD  TURKS 

horse."  Perhaps  the  little  word-picture  which 
follows  might  be  adapted  to  our  own .  political 
needs;  at  any  rate  here  it  is,  "The  horse  kicks, 
the  mule  kicks,  in  the  space  between  them  the 
donkey  is  killed."  It  is  said  that  the  proverbs 
about  looking  the  gift-horse  in  the  mouth  and 
shutting  the  stable-door  after  the  steed  is  stolen 
are  both  originally  Turkish;  so  also  is  this  sug- 
gestion, "A  wolf  on  horseback,"  taking  the  place 
of  the  proverbial  beggar.  There  is  a  fine  martial 
Ottoman  ring  about  the  saying,  "The  sword  is 
for  him  who  wears  it,  the  bridge  for  him  who 
crosses  it,  the  horse  for  him  who  mounts  it."  And 
there  is  a  touch  of  pathetic  allusion  to  the  old 
order  so  swiftly  vanishing  in  Turkey  in  the 
proverb,  "A  dying  thoroughbred  is  better  than 
a  living  donkey."  By  amending  the  resolution, 
substituting  the  word  "elephant"  for  the  word 
"  thoroughbred,"  this  might,  perhaps,  be  made 
available  for  some  of  our  stalwart  standpat- 
ters. 

There  are  other  good  Turkish  proverbs  besides 
these  horsy  ones.  We  all  know  that  pretty  and 
wise  French  saying,  "On  ne  badine  pas  avec 
V amour";  or  its  variant,  "Man  is  flax,  woman 
is  fire,  the  devil  comes  and  blows."  These  two  are 
thus  blended  by  the  Turk,  "Cotton  cannot  play 
with  fire."  Very  quaint,  too,  is  the  saying,  "A 
hungry  dog  has  no  hydrophobia."  Of  a  youth 
lacking  experience  they  say,  "He  needs  the 
bread  of  nine  ovens  to  make  him  a  man."  This 
for  a  talkative  man,  "His  mouth  has  stretched 

10  135 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

to  his  ears";  and  for  a  lucky  man,  "He  opens  his 
mouth,  and  a  pear  falls  into  it."  Of  one  who 
meekly  suffers  wrong,  they  say,  "Even  if  they 
take  the  bread  from  his  mouth,  no  sound  escapes." 
Perhaps  a  recent  conference  of  dark-complected 
business  men  might  adopt  this  Turkish  saying  as 
their  motto,  "Regard  not  the  black  face  of  the 
man  who  is  white  as  to  his  money."  For  their 
savings  department  they  might  add  this,  "White 
coin  for  a  black  day."  There  is  a  quaint  saying, 
"The  name  is  white,  the  taste  is  black."  Which 
reminds  me  of  the  charmingly  poetical  Turkish 
way  of  expressing  "the  morning  after  the  night 
before":  "From  the  night's  rejoicing  comes  the 
morning's  sorrow."  For  our  malefactors  of  great 
wealth  I  offer  the  following:  "Even  the  moun- 
tains fear  the  rich  man,"  and  "The  face  of  money 
is  warm."  Instead  of  saying  "A  word  to  the  wise 
is  enough,"  your  Ottoman  says,  more  poetically, 
v  "To  the  understanding  man  the  voice  of  the 
mosquito  is  an  orchestra."  This  might  well  be 
adopted  as  the  device  of  the  State  west  of  the 
Hudson.  Again,  for  the  wicked  rich,  "The  knife 
cuts  not  the  hand  of  gold";  and  this  expression  for 
an  unsuccessful  business  man,  "He  bought,  he 
sold,  he  is  drowned."  In  the  case  of  an  American, 
we  should  have  to  add,  "He  is  resuscitated,  and 
starts  in  again."  Here  is  a  Turkish  prototype  of 
a  joke  which  recently  went  the  rounds  of  our  comic 
papers,  "Look  at  the  mother,  take  the  daughter." 
For  a  gentleman  who  has  been  to  headquarters 
and  need  no  longer  square  the  ward  politician, 

136 


THE  HUMOR  OF  THE  OLD  TURKS 

they  say,  "He  has  seen  the  moon,  and  is  under 
no  obligation  to  the  stars." 

Here  is  a  fine  device  for  one  of  our  savings  banks 
(perhaps  it  is  not  too  late  to  embody  it  in  the 
Postal  Savings  Banks  Law) : 

They  said  to  the  little,  "Whither  goest  thou?" 

"To  the  side  of  the  much!"  it  replied. 

That,  by  the  way,  has  a  scriptural  flavor;  and 
there  is  a  like  suggestion  in  this  expression  of  the 
impossible:  "He  views  Hindustan  through  the 
eye  of  a  needle."  Even  closer  is  the  saying  of  like 
import,  "A  camel's  head  does  not  pass  through  the 
eye  of  a  needle" — drawn,  very  likely,  from  the  im- 
memorial life  of  the  desert.  Another  horse  saying, 
by  the  way,  is  this,  and  one  cannot  fail  to  be  struck 
by  its  wit  and  wisdom:  "A  fall  from  a  donkey 
hurts  more  than  a  fall  from  a  horse."  Concerning 
the  humbler  animal  there  is  also  this,  "Tie  up 
your  donkey;  do  not  make  your  neighbor  a  thief." 
Rudyard  Kipling  might  have  found  the  motive 
for  one  of  his  songs  in  this  Turkish  saying,  "If  I 
mourn,  my  mother  mourns ;  the  rest  mourn  falsely." 
Distinctly  to  be  reprobated,  as  an  incitement  to 
agitation,  is  the  proverb,  "They  give  the  breast 
only  when  the  infants  yell."  In  a  graver  mood,  if 
anything  can  be  more  serious  than  a  howling  infant, 
is  their  way  of  expressing  the  inexorable  justice 
of  the  Most  High:  "Allah  does  not  take  at  eight 
what  he  gave  at  nine."  And  I  like  the  fine  and 
primal  philosophy  of  the  saying,  "You  cannot 
argue  with  God." 

There  is  another  horse  story,  with  an  amusing 
137 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

termination,  which  concerns  a  certain  man  who, 
for  his  extreme  veracity,  was  named  the  Truthful; 
the  Sultan,  recognizing,  perhaps,  where  inveracity 
is  most  rife,  promptly  made  him  master  of  the 
horse  and  loaded  him  with  many  honors  and 
gorgeous  robes.  This  suggests,  by  the  way,  that 
one  would  like  to  have  a  contract  to  supply  ap- 
propriate and  expressive  robes  of  honor  for  some 
of  our  own  great  men,  which,  after  Oriental  custom, 
they  should  wear  when  they  went  abroad  through 
the  streets.  But  to  return  to  Truthful.  All  the 
other  personages  at  court,  who,  one  infers,  had 
been  in  the  habit  of  selling  horses  to  the  royal 
stables,  naturally  hated  him  yet  the  more  and 
lay  in  wait  for  to  destroy  him.  But  Truthful 
was  one  of  those  of  whom  it  is  said,  "He  opens  his 
mouth,  and  a  fruit  falls  into  it."  He  escaped  all 
snares.  At  last  the  fair  and  subtle  daughter 
of  the  Grand  Vizier  took  the  matter  in  hand,  and, 
promising  her  father  that  she  would  bring  the 
honest  one  to  destruction,  bade  her  slave-girls 
adorn  her  in  rich  apparel.  This  done,  she  set 
forth  in  the  dim  hours  of  night,  and,  coming  to 
the  pavilion  where  Truthful  dwelt,  she  found 
admittance  to  his  presence.  Thereupon,  with 
languishing  eyes, — and  here,  by  the  way,  the 
good  Turkish  historian  does  himself  and  the  lady 
justice;  but  I  must  content  myself  by  sum- 
marizing. Suffice  it  that  the  lady  said  that  the 
price  of  her  heart  was  nothing  less  than  a  stew 
made  of  the  heart  of  the  Sultan's  favorite  black 
steed.  Protestations  from  Truthful.  Tears  from 

138 


THE  HUMOR  OF  THE  OLD  TURKS 

Zobeide.  Result:  Horse-heart  stew  for  two, 
served  within  the  hour. 

The  morning,  as  the  proverb  says,  brought  sor- 
row. Truthful,  torn  with  remorse  for  the  coal- 
black  steed,  debated  with  his  conscience  whether 
he  might  tell  the  Sultan  that  he  had  found  the 
horse  sick  and  had  killed  it  to  save  its  life.  But 
when  he  came  before  his  lord,  the  natural  honesty 
of  him  triumphed,  and  with  tears  and  lamentations 
he  told  the  truth,  and  bade  the  Sultan  order  in 
the  executioner  and  behead  him. 

But  the  Sultan  was  a  kind  old  person  with  a 
pretty  wit,  so  he  said,  "Call  the  lady." 

When  he  had  seen  her,  he  chuckled  deeply  in 

his  throat  and  said,  "You  were  perfectly  right. 

v   If  I  had  been  in  your  place,  I  would  have  cooked 

the  whole  stable  for  her.    My  favor  is  restored, 

and  more  is  added  to  it." 


X 

AN   OTTOMAN   LEAP-YEAR  GIRL 

WHY  should  a  lady's  love-making  be  an  irre- 
sistibly comic  theme,  vying  in  popularity 
among  the  mirth-makers  with  the  mistaken-iden- 
tity joke,  which  began  before  the  pyramids  and  is 
going  still?  What,  indeed,  could  be  more  touch- 
ing, more  sentimentally  attractive,  than  a  fair 
maiden  who  has  found  the  mate  of  her  heart  gently 
intimating  to  him  that  such  is  his  relation  to  her? 
Yet  the  comedians  have  taken  just  this  theme  to 
poke  fun  at,  beginning  long  ages  before  Shakes- 
peare's "All's  Well  that  Ends  Well,"  and  coming 
down  to  the  "Man  and  Superman"  of  Mr.  Bernard 
Shaw.  It  is  true  that,  in  many  Oriental  lands, 
this  motive  had  less  vogue,  because  young  ladies 
were  supposed  to  have  less  choice,  to  be  disposed 
of  according  to  their  horoscopes,  or  the  wishes  of 
their  parents,  or,  at  the  best,  because  some  eligible 
suitor  "  sought  their  hand  in  marriage."  So  it 
was,  for  the  most  part,  in  classical  times;  and  it 
is  not  till  one  comes  to  the  early  legends  of  Ire- 
land that  one  finds  the  genuine  leap-year  girl 
who  does  her  own  proposing.  Such  a  one  is  the 
famed  and  ill-starred  Deirdre,  a  drama  about 

140 


AN  OTTOMAN  LEAP-YEAR  GIRL 

whom  seems  to  be  the  graduation  thesis  of  all  the 
poets  of  the  Celtic  Revival.  So  it  was  with 
the  lovely  Grania,  who  carried  her  Diarmid 
through  the  five  kingdoms  of  Ireland,  so  that, 
wherever  they  camped,  one  finds  a  cromlech, 
called,  to  this  day,  a  bed  of  Grania.  So  it  was 
with  that  golden-haired,  not  to  say  red-headed, 
Irish  lass,  Isolde,  who  has  had  the  greatest  vogue 
of  them  all,  starring  it  through  medieval  song,  and 
finally  conquering  the  Fatherland.  They  were 
all  leap-year  girls,  doing  their  own  wooing  and 
proposing,  and  carrying  off  their  somewhat  re- 
luctant hearts'-mates  to  all  kinds  of  adventures. 
Ireland  may  claim,  indeed,  to  have  given  to 
romance  the  maiden  heroine,  in  contrast  with 
the  wedded  Helens  and  Andromaches  of  antiquity. 
Nevertheless,  if  we  except  the  Rajputs,  it  re- 
mains true  that  the  girl  who  does  her  own  love- 
making  is  held  to  be  fit  matter  of  comedy,  now  as 
of  old.  In  Rajputana  it  was  always  the  maiden's 
part  to  woo,  and  she  did  it  charmingly,  sum- 
moning all  the  fine  young  princes  and  chieftains 
when  she  felt  herself  to  be  in  the  humor  for  marry- 
ing. They,  in  a  flower-decked  arena,  did  all 
kinds  of  martial  feats,  disporting  themselves 
with  sword  and  steed  and  bow,  while  the  lady 
watched  them  from  a  garland-encircled  booth. 
Then  came  the  march  past,  and  as  the  elect  of 
her  heart  passed  before  the  lady,  she  swung  a 
great  wreath  of  scented  flowers  around  his  shoul- 
ders and  carried  him  off  a  captive  to  her  love. 
That  would  be  a  fine  custom  to  introduce,  now 

141 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

that  we  are  running  so  deeply  in  debt  to  Oriental 
thought,  at  the  same  time  that  we  are  advancing 
in  the  great  movement  of  emancipation.  It 
would  make  far  prettier  play  than  Bernard 
Shaw's  comedy,  and  would  be  just  as  practical  in 
the  end. 

These  reflections  anent  maidens'  choosing  are 
inspired  by  a  very  delightful  little  comedy  I  have 
come  across,  whose  author  was,  some  fifty  years 
ago,  one  of  the  lights  of  literary  Islam.  He  has 
set  his  plot  on  the  far  side  of  the  frosty  Caucasus, 
where  meet  the  realms  of  Turkey  and  Persia  and 
the  Tsar;  and  he  filled  his  scenes  with  gorgeously 
picturesque  rascals  of  the  mountains,  be  they 
Ottomans  or  wily  Armenians  or  Georgians  of 
ancient  race  and  princely  names.  Fine  people 
and  excellent  matter  of  comedy,  they  are  as  strange 
to  us  as  their  names  sound  outlandish.  The 
manner  in  which  the  good  author  sets  his  play  a- 
going  is  charming,  sly,  and  naive  at  the  same  time. 
He  presents  to  us  his  hero,  a  fine  young  Turk, 
rejoicing  in  the  name  of  Haider  Bey,  who  calls  his 
Creator  to  witness  that  the  age  is  degenerate 
and  the  times  are  out  of  joint,  because  a  likely 
young  man  can  no  longer  make  an  honorable  living 
in  the  good  old  way.  No  more  gallant  riding,  no 
more  shooting;  time  was,  when  not  a  week 
passed  but  there  was  a  caravan  to  plunder,  a 
camp  to  overhaul.  What  has  become  of  the 
fights  with  the  Kizil-bashes  and  the  Ottomans, 
that  used  to  silver  and  gild  the  hillsides  of  Kara- 
bagh? 

142 


AN  OTTOMAN  LEAP-YEAR  GIRL 

Just  the  other  day  the  commandant  of  the  town 
had  summoned  him,  and  said: 

" Haider  Bey,  you  must  be  good!  No  more 
brigandage,  no  more  holding-up  of  travelers,  no 
more  robberies!'7 

To  which  our  young  hero  sadly  made  answer : 

" Commandant,  we  approve  your  decision;  but 
how  are  we  to  make  a  living?'7 

And,  imagine  it,  he  said: 

"  Haider  Bey,  sow  seed  in  the  earth,  till  your 
garden,  go  into  trade!" 

Just  as  if  our  hero  had  been  an  Armenian,  to 
plow  and  reap,  or  a  rearer  of  silk-worms  or  a 
village  peddler! 

To  him  Haider  Bey  made  answer: 

"  Commandant,  who  ever  heard  of  a  young 
brave  guiding  a  plow  or  tilling  the  soil?  My 
father,  Kurban  Bey,  never  did;  I,  his  son,  will 
not  do  it  either!" 

But  the  commandant  only  frowned,  and  passed 
on.  Were  ever  such  degenerate  days?  To  his 
gentlemanly  young  friends,  who  gather  round 
him,  Haider  Bey  makes  this  lament.  And  there 
is  worse  behind  it,  for,  it  seems,  he  has  exchanged 
hearts  with  a  fair  Turkish  maiden,  Sona  Hanum 
by  name,  and  he  can  neither  pay  the  needed  dower 
money  to  her  parents  nor  safely  carry  her  off,  for 
fear  of  their  complaints.  So  what,  under  the  cir- 
cumstances, can  a  gallant  young  gentleman  do? 
How  would  it  sound  to  have  folk  say: 

"Kurban  Bey's  son  had  not  the  money  to  marry 
on,  so  he  ran  away  with  his  girl!" 

143 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

Could  heart  of  man  endure  it?  And,  to  add  the 
final  sting,  did  not  some  of  his  gentlemanly  young 
companions,  to  whom  he  alleged  these  reasons, 
even  suggest  that  he  was  afraid?  So  young  Haider 
had  well  nigh  made  up  his  mind  to  carry  the  maiden 
off,  cost  what  it  might.  But  young  Asker  Bey 
pleaded  with  him  for  prudence.  Give  him  a 
couple  of  weeks,  he  said,  and  he  would  find  the 
money  for  a  proper  wedding,  with  all  due  cere- 
mony and  style,  such  as  befitted  the  son  of  Kurban 
Bey.  So  they  worked  out  a  perfectly  peaceable 
and  lawful  scheme.  They  would  borrow  money 
from  the  rich  merchant,  Hadji  Kara,  go  across 
the  frontier,  buy  goods,  run  the  gauntlet  of  the 
custom-house,  and  sell  the  goods  again  at  home, 
at  a  tremendous  gain. 

So  far  so  good.  But  Haider  Bey  has  to  inform 
his  fair  young  lady-love  of  the  plan  about  to  be 
adventured  in  her  behoof,  and  the  Turkish  dra- 
matist rises  to  the  occasion  in  a  charming  scene. 
He  shows  us  an  Oriental  tent,  shrouded  in  the 
shadows  of  evening,  near  which,  concealed  behind 
the  bushes,  is  the  sweet  maiden  Sona  Hanum. 
She  is,  it  seems,  very  much  in  earnest,  for  she 
wears  a  charming  traveling  costume  under  her 
wide  silk  shawl,  and  is  walking  up  and  down  im- 
patiently or  stopping  to  look  for  her  expected 
lover. 

"O  Allah,  be  kind  to  us!'7  she  cries — and  it  is 
curious  that  all  young  persons  about  to  run  away 
seem  to  count  on  the  sympathies  of  Allah — "what 
can  have  happened  to  him?  Half  the  night  is 

144 


AN  OTTOMAN  LEAP-YEAR  GIRL 

gone,  and  he  has  not  come.  Dawn  is  almost 
breaking,  morning  is  nigh;  and  I  know  not  what 
to  do.  I  can  only  wait  a  little  while  longer;  then, 
if  he  does  not  come,  I  must  go  back  to  the  tent!" 

All  of  which  shows  a  substantial  unity  in  the 
young  feminine  heart  without  regard  to  race  or 
clime.  Walking  restlessly  a  few  paces,  Miss 
Sona  continues: 

"No,  he  is  not  come.  It  is  certain  that  he  is 
not  coming.  He  has  probably  met  some  crazy 
fellow  who  has  taken  him  off  on  a  horse-stealing 
expedition.  Or  perhaps  he  has  been  detained. 
I  cannot  break  my  promise  to  him.  If  our  plan 
has  been  discovered,  he  will  have  to  flee  again; 
what  a  sad  day  that  will  be  for  me!  I  shall  be 
kept  a  prisoner  at  home  for  two  years  more.  By 
Allah,  I  will  not  wait  for  him  any  longer!  Marry 
some  one  else.  He  means  to  let  me  wither  in  my 
father's  house." 

She  stops;  then,  a  moment  later,  begins  again: 

"What  a  wicked  thought  was  that !  Suppose  he 
had  overheard  me  saying, '  Marry  some  one  else '? 
and  if  he  had  believed  it?  No,  he  could  not 
believe  it.  He  would  know  I  was  only  telling 
stories.  I  am  sure  he  is  coming!" 

And  she  was  quite  right;  for  young  Haider 
forthwith  arrived  on  horseback,  a  right  gallant 
cavalier,  and  swung  himself  out  of  the  saddle, 
calling  her : 

"SonaHanum!" 

To  which  the  maiden  answered:  "Haider?  It 
is  thou?" 

145 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

Haider  admitted  that  it  was,  indeed,  he,  where- 
upon Sona  Hanum  assured  herself  that  he  was 
alone.  Thus  assured,  she  began  to  reproach 
him: 

"Why  hast  thou  come  alone?  My  father  and 
my  brothers  are  sleeping  in  the  tent;  you  are  late 
in  coming,  and  morning  is  at  hand;  when  they  do 
not  find  me,  my  father  and  my  brothers  will  under- 
stand all,  they  will  pursue  me,  they  will  follow  the 
footsteps  of  thy  horse,  and  will  tear  me  from 
thee,  so  that  I  shall  see  thee  never  more  until 
the  day  of  the  resurrection!" 

To  which  Haider  Bey  replies,  reassuring  her, 
that  she  need  fear  nothing,  for  he  is  not  going  to 
carry  her  off.  Then — O  inscrutable  heart  of 
woman — Sona  Hanum  replies: 

"What?  You  are  not  going  to  carry  me  off? 
What  say  you?" 

And  Haider  Bey,  somewhat  abashed,  replies  that 
there  is  a  better  plan  in  the  wind,  to  which  he  bids 
her  listen.  But  Sona  Hanum  will  have  none  of  it. 

"There  is  no  better  plan"  she  insists:  "bring 
your  horse  forward,  and  let  us  go  at  once.  I  can- 
not go  back  to  the  tent!" 

Haider,  still  somewhat  abashed,  insists  that  he 
is  in  earnest.  Sona  Hanum  seeks  promptly  to 
prove  that  so  is  she;  seizing  his  bridle,  she  says: 

"I  will  not  listen!  Come,  give  me  your  stirrup. 
You  will  tell  me  all  as  we  are  going!" 

But  Haider  remains  prudent.  "My  dear," 
he  begs,  "be  not  impatient.  Listen  to  me. 
This  is  what  I  have  to  say  ..." 

146 


AN  OTTOMAN  LEAP-YEAR  GIRL 

But  Sona  Hanum  impatiently  answers :  t  i  Dawn 
is  at  hand;  this  is  no  time  for  delay.  You  can 
tell  me  the  whole  story  afterward !" 

Haider,  still  holding  her  by  the  arm,  continues 
to  expostulate. 

"My  dear,"  he  says,  "I  have  found  the  money. 
I  shall  marry  you  in  seemly  and  formal  style. 
Why,  then,  should  we  run  away,  when  no  one  can 
take  you  away  from  me?" 

To  which  Sona  Hanum  answers  briefly  and  to 
the  point: 

"Thou  liest!  If  the  money  were  forthcoming, 
it  might  have  come  any  time  these  two  years  past. 
I  don't  want  to  be  married  in  formal  style.  I 
want  to  run  away.  And  I  won't  be  the  first  to 
do  it,  either!  Every  day  a  hundred  maidens 
run  away  in  just  this  fashion.  Where  is  the  harm?" 

All  of  which,  though  very  subversive,  shows  a 
distinct  modernity,  unless  indeed,  we  are  face  to 
face  with  the  most  ancient  institution  in  the 
world. 

But  Haider  continues  to  reason  with  her.  "My 
dear,"  he  says,  "the  girls  who  get  themselves 
carried  off  are  those  whom  their  fathers  and 
mothers  refuse  to  give  in  marriage;  so  there  is 
nothing  for  it  but  to  run  away.  But  your  father 
and  mother  have  given  you  to  me.  Would  they 
not  say,  '  Shame  on  thee!  What  hast  thou  done? 
Thou  hast  dishonored  us!'  What  could  I  answer 
to  that?" 

Sona  Hanum  reflects  for  a  while,  and  then  asks: 
"Where  did  you  get  the  money?" 

147 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

Haider  sees  that  he  has  gained  a  point.  "Stay 
here,"  he  says,  "and  I  will  tell  you  all  about  it!'7 

And  Sona,  staying  for  the  moment,  bids  him 
speak.  He  begins,  in  explanatory  vein,  by  re- 
minding her  of  the  big  profits  that  can  be  made  on 
smuggled  goods.  But  she  at  once  takes  him  up : 

"What  have  you  to  do  with  smuggled  goods? 
You  are  no  trader.  Tell  me,  how  much  money 
did  you  get?" 

Heider  Bey  continues  to  explain.  "Listen  to 
what  I  have  to  tell  you.  Russia  has  forbidden 
the  export  of  muslins  made  in  Europe,  and  no  one 
dares  to  go  after  them.  But  a  brave  man,  who 
had  the  energy,  might  go  after  them  and  get  a 
few  bales." 

To  which  Sona  Hanum,  who  is  evidently  unwill- 
ing to  renounce  the  fine  adventure  of  being  car- 
ried off,  makes  skeptical  reply:  "My  friend,  what 
does  it  matter  that  Russia  has  forbidden  the 
export  of  European  stuffs?  If  Allah  would  only 
forbid  people  to  wear  them  altogether!  Come, 
tell  me  who  gave  you  the  money." 

Haider  Bey  tries  once  more  to  straighten  matters 
out  in  a  persuasive  way.  "My  dear,  you  do  not 
give  me  a  chance  to  finish  what  I  have  to  say. 
People  here  are  so  eager  for  European  muslins 
that  as  soon  as  they  have  a  chance  to  get  them 
they  turn  up  their  noses  at  silk.  Asker  Bey  says 
that  they  are  cheap  and  lovely.  The  colors  are 
fixed,  and  all  the  women  are  so  crazy  for  them 
that  they  won't  look  at  Russian  stuffs." 

But   Sona  Hanum  interrupts  again.      "What 
148 


AN  OTTOMAN  LEAP-YEAR  GIRL 

have  you  to  do  with  European  muslins?  The  devil 
take  them!  Tell  me  what  you  have  to  tell!" 

Haider  tries  again.  "They  even  say  that  the 
commandant's  wife,  unbeknown  to  her  husband, 
always  wears  European  stuffs.  Hadi  Aziz  has 
recently  sold  her  twenty  tomans'  worth." 

"Let  him  sell  them  to  the  devil's  wife!"  says  the 
sweet  Turkish  maiden,  who  is  evidently  losing  her 
temper.  "Let  him  sell  them  for  grave-clothes!  I 
can't  imagine  how  this  muslin  plan  got  into  your 
head.  Haider,  you  are  quite  crazy.  What  are 
you  talking  about?" 

All  of  which  sheds  light  on  the  difficulties  in 
the  way  of  the  Young  Turk  movement  of  later 
years. 

Haider,  still  keeping  an  admirable  control, 
replies  to  her  sally:  "All  the  same,  have  you  not 
heard  how  eagerly  the  European  muslins  are 
sought  after?" 

"What  has  that  to  do  with  me?"  answers 
Sona.  "I  am  not  a  trader  in  European  muslins!" 

"Very  true,"  says  the  sturdy  Haider;  "but  listen. 
I  shall  make  a  trip,  I  shall  get  several  bales  of 
European  muslins,  I  shall  bring  them  to  the 
merchants,  and  I  shall  get  twice  the  money  needed 
for  our  marriage." 

Sona  Hanum,  with  delicious  feminine  un- 
reasonableness, replies:  "That  is  all  you  have 
found  to  say  in  all  this  time!  Enough!  Enough! 
God  bless  us!  It  is  my  turn  to  tell  you  that  a 
child  would  have  found  the  money  long  ago.  One 
would  think  that  European  muslins  were  scattered 

149 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

broadcast  and  that  you  only  had  to  pick  them 
up.  Come,  mount,  and  let  us  go!  Morn  is  at 
hand!" 

Then  Haider  tries  a  last  desperate  expedient 
of  reasonableness.  "I  have  the  money/'  he  says; 
"I  was  telling  lies!" 

Sona  replies,  quick  as  lightning:  "If  you  have 
the  money,  marry  me.  Why  need  we  trouble 
about  European  muslins?" 

Haider  temporizes.  "I  was  able  at  last  to 
borrow  it,"  he  says,  "but  on  condition  that  I 
should  go  after  the  bales  of  European  muslin. 
Half  the  profit  will  be  mine,  and  then  I  will  marry 
you." 

Sona  at  last  seems  to  admit  that  the  plan  is 
practicable.  But  Haider's  difficulties  are  by  no 
means  ended,  for  she  continues: 

"I  don't  want  to  get  married  through  any  such 
scheme!  Mount,  and  let  us  flee!  If  there  is  so 
much  profit  in  European  stuffs,  why  should  the 
merchant  who  is  lending  you  the  money  share  the 
profits  with  you?  What  is  to  hinder  his  going 
himself  to  get  the  stuffs?" 

Haider  defends  his  plan  bravely.  "He  is  a 
Persian,  and  he  will  go  with  me.  Without  me, 
how  could  he  cross  the  Aras?  The  Cossacks 
would  seize  him  by  the  hair!" 

"And  you,"  cries  the  fair  Sona — "won't  the 
Cossacks  seize  you  by  the  hair,  too?" 

Haider  now  begins  to  boast.  "I  have  been  on 
marauding  expeditions  before,"  he  says,  and  we 
can  feel  him  thrusting  out  his  chest.  "I  have  as 

150 


AN  OTTOMAN  LEAP-YEAR  GIRL 

many  tricks  as  a  fox.  Do  you  think  I  shall  let 
the  Cossacks  seize  me  by  the  hair?" 

But  Sona  Hanum  is  not  appeased.  "You 
say  that,  as  you  have  been  a  marauder  before,  you 
won't  be  seen  or  found  out.  But  you  will,  and  you 
will  have  to  flee  and  go  into  hiding,  and  it  will 
be  two  years  more  before  you  can  come  home 
again.  And  now  you  want  to  go  away,  and  leave 
me  in  despair.  No,  I  won't  consent!  Come,  let 
us  flee!  I  don't  want  to  get  married." 

Haider  Bey  temporizes  once  again.  "Very 
well;  you  do  not  want  a  formal  marriage.  But 
are  we  to  give  up  a  good  piece  of  business?  You 
don't  want  us  to  have  bread  to  eat?" 

"Allah  is  generous!"  piously  replies  Sona 
Hanum.  "He  will  not  let  us  starve!" 

"How  can  we  help  starving?"  asks  the  good, 
perplexed  Haider,  still  delightfully  and  chival- 
rously patient.  "You  tell  me  to  give  up  brigandage, 
and  you  won't  let  me  trade  in  smuggled  goods. 
Then  where  are  we  going  to  get  bread  from?" 

With  quite  exasperating  femininity  Sona  Hanum 
harks  back  to  her  starting-point:  "Dawn  is  break- 
ing! Up,  let  us  start!  Take  me  away  with  you! 
After  two  weeks,  you  shall  go,  if  you  wish,  and 
get  your  smuggled  goods." 

"Since  you  agree  to  that,"  says  Haider,  "stay 
two  weeks  in  your  father's  tent.  If  I  do  not  come 
for  you  then,  you  may  consider  me  the  vilest  of 
men." 

But  Sona  Hanum  answers:  "I  won't!  I  won't! 
I  am  going,  and  now.  Mount,  let  us  flee!" 

11  151 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

And  she  stamps  with  her  pretty  foot  upon  the 
ground,  just  as  though  she  were  one  of  ourselves! 

Haider  pleads  eloquently  with  her,  prays  that  her 
account  of  sins  may  be  transferred  to  him  in  the 
angelic  ledgers,  ofters  to  kiss  her  feet,  and  begs  for 
two  weeks'  grace,  after  which  he  will  come  and 
marry  her.  To  take  her  without  a  formal  wedding 
seems  to  him  worse  than  death,  and  he  is  wholly 
unwilling  to  incur  the  contempt  of  her  good 
parents.  Sona,  the  eternal  feminine,  replies: 

"To  wait  two  weeks  seems  to  me  worse  than 
the  pains  of  hell.  I  cannot  wait  any  longer! 
Up,  let  us  go!" 

She  begins  to  weep,  and  says  Haider  does  not 
love  her  any  more.  Haider  at  last  gives  in, 
and  bids  her  mount;  but,  just  as  her  foot  is  in  the 
stirrup,  her  mother  comes  from  the  tent  and  calls 
her.  Sona,  with  true  feminine  inconsistency,  de- 
clares that  she  cannot  flee,  now  her  mother  has 
called  her,  begs  him  to  go  smuggling,  and  promises 
to  wed  him  as  soon  as  he  returns. 

Which,  indeed,  befalls  after  many  blood-curdling 
and  portentous  adventures,  altogether  delightful 
in  the  telling,  but  too  long  to  relate  here.  Suffice 
it  that  Sona  Hanum  and  her  gallant  Haider  wed 
and  live  happy  ever  after. 


XI 

THE   HUMOR   OF  THE   GREEKS 

I  KNOW  nothing  more  delicious,  more  charmingly 
humorous  in  all  literature  than  that  Grecian 
idyl  of  Moschus  wherein  he  depicts  the  foam- 
born  goddess  Venus  advertising  for  her  baby 
Cupid,  who,  it  would  seem,  was  lost,  stolen,  or 
strayed.  In  her  announcement  of  her  loss,  the 
mother's  tender  infatuation  for  her  little  son 
wars  with  the  obligation  of  the  goddess  to  tell 
the  truth,  the  whole  truth,  nothing  but  the  truth. 
As  loving  mother,  Venus  describes  her  baby's 
curls  and  dimples.  Then,  constrained  by  the 
word  of  honor  of  an  Olympian,  she  warns  the 
finder  of  his  bow,  his  barbed  arrows,  his  dangerous 
kisses.  But  let  the  lady  Venus  speak  for  herself. 
"Who,"  she  asks,  "has  seen  Love  wandering? 
He  is  my  runaway;  whosoever  has  aught  to  tell 
of  him  shall  have  his  reward,  and  his  prize  is  the 
kiss  of  Aphrodite.  The  child  is  most  notable; 
thou  couldst  tell  him  among  twenty  together;  his 
skin  is  not  white,  but  flame-colored,  his  eyes  keen 
and  burning;  an  evil  spirit  and  a  sweet  tongue  has 
he,  for  his  speech  and  his  tongue  are  at  variance. 
Like  honey  is  his  voice,  but  his  heart  of  gall;  all 

153 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

shameless  is  he,  and  deceitful;  the  truth  is  not  in 
him,  a  wily  brat,  and  cruel  in  his  pastime.  The 
locks  of  his  hair  are  lovely,  but  his  brow  is  im- 
pudent; and  tiny  are  his  little  hands,  yet  far  he 
shoots  his  arrows — shoots  even  to  Acheron,  and 
to  the  King  of  Hades.  The  body  of  Love  is  naked, 
but  well  is  his  spirit  hidden;  and,  winged  like  a 
bird,  he  flits  and  descends,  now  here,  now  there, 
upon  men  and  women,  and  nestles  in  their  inmost 
hearts.  He  hath  a  little  bow  and  an  arrow  always 
on  the  string;  tiny  is  the  shaft,  but  it  carries  as 
high  as  heaven.  A  golden  quiver  on  his  back  he 
bears,  and  within  it  his  bitter  arrows,  wherewith 
full  many  a  time  he  wounds  even  me.  Cruel  are 
all  those  instruments  of  his,  but  more  cruel  by  far 
the  little  torch,  his  very  own,  wherewith  he 
lights  up  the  Sun  himself.  And  if  thou  catch 
Love,  bind  him,  and  bring  him,  and  have  no  pity; 
and  if  thou  see  him  weeping,  take  heed  lest  he 
give  thee  the  slip;  and  if  he  laugh,  hale  him 
along.  Yea,  and  if  he  wish  to  kiss  thee,  beware, 
for  evil  is  his  kiss,  and  his  lips  are  enchanted. 
And  should  he  say,  'Take  these,  I  give  thee  in 
free  gift  all  my  armory/  touch  not  at  all  his 
treacherous  gifts,  for  they  all  are  dipped  in 
fire." 

Yes;  the  description  of  the  strayed  child  is 
vivid  and  truthful.  The  mother -love  speaks 
true;  but  so  does  the  goddess,  with  her  sense  of 
honor.  She  had,  indeed,  suffered  many  things 
from  the  arrows  of  the  boy,  as  witness  that  time 
old  white-haired  Homer  tells  of.  For  the  Sun, 

154 


THE  HUMOR  OF  THE  GREEKS 

being  ever  something  of  a  spy,  informed  club-footed 
Hephaestus,  lawful  lord  of  Aphrodite,  that  she, 
fickle-hearted,  was  carrying  on  a  flirtation  with 
Ares,  of  the  golden  armor.  And  Hephaestus,  being 
sub  tie -minded  and  jealous  withal,  set  a  snare  in 
his  home — a  net,  as  it  were  the  web  of  a  spider,— 
and  made  as  though  he  would  go  to  Lemnos. 
Ares  saw  him  depart,  and  went  to  Hephaestus's 
dwelling  to  await  golden  Aphrodite,  the  foam- 
born  goddess  whom  the  Romans  called  Venus. 
And  Aphrodite  presently  coming,  Ares  greeted 
her.  So  they  two,  touched  by  the  little  love-god's 
arrows,  were  caught  in  the  web  of  the  snare;  and 
the  Sun,  still  spying  on  them,  bade  Hephaestus 
come  back  again.  He,  indeed,  returning  swiftly, 
stood  at  the  door  of  his  dwelling  watching  the 
culprits  struggle  in  the  snare,  and  then  called 
aloud  to  all  the  gods  to  come  to  look  at  them. 

They  came,  those  lords  of  Olympus:  Zeus,  the 
son  of  Kronos;  and  Poseidon,  lord  of  the  earth- 
quake; and  swift  Hermes;  and  King  Apollo,  lord 
of  the  silver  bow.  And  they  stood  there  at  the 
door,  and  laughter  unquenchable  arose  among  the 
happy  immortals.  Presently,  at  the  bidding 
of  Poseidon,  the  jealous  Hephaestus  loosed  the 
snare,  and  his  captives  departed,  Aphrodite,  the 
foam -born,  departing  to  Cyprus,  where  she  had 
her  temple  at  leafy  Paphos. 

One  of  the  gods  made  an  epigram,  saying  that 
the  slow  outstrip  the  swift,  for  slow  -  footed 
Hephaestus  had  overtaken  Ares,  swiftest  of  the 
immortals.  Apollo  laughed,  and  asked  Hermes 

155 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

whether  he,  too,  would  be  willing  to  be  caught  in  a 
net,  for  golden  Aphrodite's  kisses.  Hermes  an- 
swered that  he  would;  nay,  that  for  her  he  would 
brave  threefold  chains. 

Thus,  according  to  grandsire  Homer,  did  the 
little  love -god  play  spiteful  tricks  even  on  his 
mother;  and  I  suppose  it  was  some  such  frivolous 
fancy  as  this  that  led  wise  Plato  to  ban  the 
whole  race  of  poets,  saying  that  they  were  very 
well-springs  of  wickedness.  But  we  must  return 
to  the  foam-born  goddess  and  her  advertisement 
for  the  lost  boy  with  the  bow.  I  find  two  claim- 
ants for  the  reward. 

First  is  Julian,  sometime  prefect  of  Egypt,  who 
writes  thus:  "Once,  while  wreathing  a  garland, 
I  found  Love  among  the  roses.  Laying  hold  of 
him  by  the  wings,  I  dipt  him  in  the  wine,  and,  tak- 
ing it,  I  drank  it.  And  now  within  my  veins  he 
tickles  me  with  his  feathers." 

Yet  another  claimant  to  have  found  the  flame- 
colored  boy  is  Anacreon.  "Once  at  the  hour  of 
midnight,"  he  says,  "when  the  Great  Bear  was 
turning  at  the  hand  of  Bootes,  and  all  the  tribes  of 
voice-dividing  men  were  lying  subdued  by  toil, 
then  did  Cupid  stand  and  knock  at  my  door. 
'Who/  said  I,  'is  battering  the  door?  You  will 
drive  my  dreams  away.7  And  Love  says,  'Open; 
I  am  a  little  child;  be  not  alarmed;  I  have  been 
wandering  in  the  moonless  night,  and  I  am  wet 
through  P  On  hearing  this  I  pitied  him  and 
straightway  opened  the  door.  And  I  beheld  a 
child  with  wings,  bearing  a  bow  and  quiver. 

156 


THE  HUMOR  OF  THE   GREEKS 

Placing  him  on  the  hearth,  I  warmed  his  hands  in 
mine  and  squeezed  the  water  from  his  wet  hair. 
But  he,  when  the  cold  had  left  him,  turned  to  me 
and  said,  '  Come,  let  us  try  the  bow,  whether  the 
string  is  at  all  injured  by  the  wet/  So  he  let  fly 
an  arrow  at  my  heart,  sharp  as  the  sting  of  a 
gadfly.  Then  he  leaped  up  laughing,  and  said, 
' Rejoice  with  me,  for  the  bow-tip  is  uninjured; 
but  I  fear  you  will  have  a  pain  in  your  heart/  ' 

Truly  a  graceless  boy;  but  Theocritus  tells  a 
little  story  that  may  go  far  to  console  us.  Once 
on  a  time,  he  says,  Dan  Cupid  was  gathering 
roses,  and  in  the  heart  of  one  of  the  roses,  all  un- 
seen, was  hid  a  bee.  Cupid  caught  it  unknowing, 
and  it  straightway  stung  his  finger.  He  ran 
crying  to  his  mother,  the  golden  lady  of  Cy- 
thera. 

"I  am  undone,  mother !"  he  cried.  " I  am  undone 
and  dying,  for  a  little  winged  creature  that  the 
farmers  call  a  bee  has  wounded  me!" 

But  foam-born  Aphrodite  answered,  "Thou,  too, 
art  a  little  thing  and  winged,  but  what  pain  goes 
with  the  sting  of  thy  arrows!" 

One  instance  more,  and  we  must  leave  the  worst 
of  all  bad  boys  and  his  too  tender-hearted  mamma. 
Here  is  an  epigram  which  I  quote  not  so  much  for 
its  humor  as  its  grace.  When  Praxiteles  molded 
that  lovely  statue  of  Venus  which  is  to  this  day 
the  type  and  model  of  all  loveliness,  a  poet,  seek- 
ing a  fitting  inscription  for  the  statue,  imagined 
Venus  speaking  thus: 

"  Paris  beheld  me  unveiled  at  the  judgment  of 

157 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

the  three  goddesses;  and  Anchises,  father  of  my 
^Eneas;  but  when  did  Praxiteles  see  me?" 

One  of  the  funniest  Greek  stories  is  this  tale  of 
the  deaf  litigants  before  a  deaf  judge,  told  by 
Nicarchus.  A  deaf  man,  he  relates,  had  a  lawsuit 
with  another  deaf  man;  and  the  judge  was  even 
more  deaf  than  either  plaintiff  or  defendant. 
For  the  plaintiff  declared  that  the  defendant  owed 
him  five  months'  rent  for  his  house;  but  the  de- 
fendant replied  that  he  had  been  working  at  the 
mill  all  night;  and  the  judge  said,  "Why  are  you 
contending?  You  have  a  mother.  Both  of  you 
must  contribute  to  her  support!'7 

I  have  seen  this,  too,  quoted  as  from  the  Greek. 
A  certain  man  was  blessed  with  a  wife  quarrel- 
some as  Socrates' s  Xantippe.  They  came  running 
to  him  and  told  him  that  his  wife  was  fallen  into 
the  river;  and  he  at  once  set  off  up-stream  to  rescue 
her. 

"Fool,"  they  said,  "the  current  will  carry  her 
down-stream,  not  up!" 

"Ah,"  he  replied,  "you  do  not  know  my  wife!" 

There  are  scores  of  these  Greek  jokes  of  only  a 
line  or  two,  and  yet  full  of  Attic  salt.  Thus  the 
same  Nicarchus  whom  I  have  already  quoted 
tells  us  that  Pheido  the  miser  wept,  not  because  he 
must  die,  but  because  the  price  of  coffins  had 
gone  up.  There  are,  indeed,  many  of  these  jests 
at  death,  and  one  distinctive  element  of  humor  in 
Greece  is  the  comic  epitaph,  the  joke  written  even 
on  the  tombstone.  Take  this  for  example — again 

from  the  sharp  pen  of  Nicarchus: 

158 


THE  HUMOR  OF  THE  GREEKS 

"Pheido  the  physician  neither  dosed  me  nor 
handled  me;  but,  being  ill  of  a  fever,  I  remembered 
his  name,  and  died." 

Though  not  an  epitaph,  this  is  an  equally  keen 
thrust  at  the  good  doctors: 

"Rhodon  takes  away  leprosy  and  scrofula  with 
his  medicines;  he  takes  away  everything  else 
without  medicines." 

Once  more,  from  Nicarchus:  "  When  the  night- 
owl  sings,  other  things  die.  When  Demophilus 
sings,  the  night-owl  dies." 

An  equally  keen,  artistic  criticism  is  this,  this 
time  not  of  a  musician  but  of  a  sculptor:  "Dio- 
dorus  carved  the  image  of  Menodotus  and  set  it 
up,  very  like  everybody — except  Menodotus." 

In  a  more  gracious  spirit  is  this  compliment  to 
a  pretty  girl,  Dercylis  by  name,  "  There  are  now 
two  Venuses,  ten  Muses,  and  four  Graces;  for 
Dercylis  is  a  Muse,  a  Venus,  and  a  Grace." 

It  was  left  for  a  latter-day  barbarian  to  write  the 
contrary  epigram  in  the  album  of  a  disagreeable 
young  lady: 

There  were  three  Graces.    Thee  thy  mother  bore. 
The  Graces  still  are  three,  not  four. 

That  is  written  by  a  Scythian,  and  it  is  worthy 
of  a  Scythian.  Worthy  of  a  Scythian  is  this 
epigram  of  the  Greek  Automedon : 

"  Yesterday  mine  host  gave  me  for  dinner  a 
goat's  foot  and  a  dish  of  hemp  sprouts.  I  dare 
not  mention  his  name,  for  he  is  quick-tempered, 

159 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

and  I  dread  lest  in  revenge  he  might  invite  me 
again." 

Here  is  a  very  pretty  Grecian  riddle:  "If 
you  look  at  me,  I  look  at  you;  you  look  at  me  with 
your  eyes  but  I  do  not  behold  you  with  eyes,  for  I 
have  none.  And  if  you  speak,  I  answer  you  with- 
out a  voice;  for  the  voice  is  yours,  though  I  open 
my  lips."  The  answer  to  the  riddle  is,  of  course, 
a  looking-glass. 

Almost  too  biting  to  deserve  the  name  of  humor 
is  this  epigram  to  an  unknown  lady,  who,  no 
doubt,  had  properly  snubbed  the  poet:  "You 
have  bought  hair,  paint,  honey,  wax,  teeth;  at 
the  same  cost,  you  might  have  bought  a  face." 

Equally  sharp  is  this,  which  we  may  number 
with  the  comic  epitaphs:  "I,  Timocrates  of 
Rhodes,  lie  here,  having  eaten  much,  drunk  much, 
and  spoken  much  evil  of  men." 

Here  is  another  epitaph,  rather  pathetic  than 
comic,  yet  still  in  the  vein  of  humor:  "I,  Diony- 
sius  of  Tarsus,  lie  here,  sixty  years  old;  I  never 
married;  I  wish  my  father  had  not." 

Some  very  witty  things  were  said  of  Bacchus, 
god  of  the  clustering  vine,  and  of  the  red  juice 
pressed  from  the  grape.  One  poet  writes  of  him 
thus: 

"I  am  armed  against  the  love-god  with  firm 
reasons  in  my  breast;  nor  shall  he  conquer  while 
it  is  one  against  one.  I,  a  mortal,  will  stand  against 
an  immortal.  But  if  Bacchus  comes  to  his  help, 
what  can  I  do,  single-handed,  against  two?" 

Yet  more  humorous  is  this  epigram  on  Anacreon. 

160 


THE  HUMOR  OF  THE  GREEKS 

the  poet  of  wine  and  philandering:  " Behold  old 
Anacreon  on  a  marble  bench,  well  soaked  with 
wine,  and  with  a  garland  of  flowers  on  his  head. 
The  old  fellow  leers  with  moist  eyes,  and  has 
drawn  his  robe  down  to  his  heels.  But,  like  a 
tipsy  man,  he  has  lost  one  of  his  slippers;  the  other 
clings  to  his  wrinkled  foot.  He  is  singing  love- 
songs  to  his  lyre.  But  do  thou,  lord  Bacchus, 
guard  him.  For  it  is  not  seemly  that  a  servant 
of  Bacchus  should  come  to  grief  through  worship 
of  Bacchus." 

Also  concerned  with  Bacchus  and  his  devotees 
is  the  following,  which  is  to  be  added  to  our  collec- 
tion of  comic  epigrams:  "This  is  the  tomb  of 
the  hoary-headed  woman  Maronis;  on  her  monu- 
ment you  behold  a  cup  sculptured  in  stone.  The 
old  woman,  fond  of  strong  wine,  and  an  ever- 
lasting talker,  mourns  not  for  her  children  nor  for 
the  father  of  her  children;  even  in  the  grave 
she  laments  one  thing  alone:  that  the  stone  wine- 
cup  on  her  tomb  is  empty." 

In  a  hardly  less  satirical  spirit  is  this  epigram 
and  epitaph  on  Diogenes  the  Cynic,  which  means 
in  Greek  "the  dog-like":  "A  staff,  a  scrip,  and  a 
twice-folded  garment  are  the  light  load  of  the 
wise  Diogenes.  All  these  I  am  carrying  to 
Charon,  ferryman  of  the  Styx,  for  I  have  left 
nothing  above  ground.  And  may  you,  dog 
Cerberus,  guardian  of  Hades,  welcome  me,  the 
Dog!" 

Here  is  another  epigram  on  a  tipsy  old  lady: 
"Bacchylis,  when  she  was  sore  afflicted  with  sick- 

161 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

ness,  made  a  vow  to  goddess  Ceres,  saying,  'If, 
O  goddess,  I  escape  from  this  destructive  fever,  I 
will  drink  in  honor  of  thee  water  unmixed  with 
wine,  while  I  behold  a  hundred  suns!7  But  as 
soon  as  she  was  cured  of  her  fever  she  hit  on  this 
plan  to  fulfil  her  vow:  she  held  a  sieve  up  to  the 
sun,  and,  looking  through  it,  beheld  a  hundred 
suns.  So  on  that  day  she  drank  water,  and  on  the 
next  was  back  at  her  wine." 

We  all  remember  the  verses  concerning  the  dog 
which  went  mad  and  bit  the  man,  and  which 
tell  us  that  "the  dog  it  was  that  died."  The 
original  is  Greek,  and  far  sharper  in  point  than 
its  modern  copy:  "A  poisonous  viper  stung  a 
Cappadocian.  The  viper  died!" 

But  let  us  relieve  the  bitterness  of  this  too 
satiric  humor  by  a  charming  epitaph  on  two 
ancient  twins:  "We  were  of  one  blood,  two  old 
women  of  the  same  age,  Anaxo  and  Cleino,  twin 
daughters  of  Epicrates.  Cleino  was  priestess  of 
the  Graces;  Anaxo  all  her  life  long  a  handmaiden 
of  Demeter.  We  lacked  nine  days  of  eighty 
years,  but  of  years  there  is  no  grudging  to  those, 
to  whom  they  were  holy.  We  loved  our  husbands 
and  children.  But  we,  old  women,  first  reached 
Hades,  kind  to  us!" 

One  may  add  that  the  richer  theological  mean- 
ing imported  into  the  name  Hades  gives  an  added 
touch  of  humor  to  some  of  these  Greek  epigrams; 
as,  for  instance,  this:  "Three  maidens  sat  on  a 
roof,  and  drew  lots  to  see  which  of  them  should 
die  first.  Thrice  the  lot  fell  to  one  of  them,  and 

162 


A   POISONOUS   VIPER   STUNG    A   CAPPADOCIAN.      THE    VIPER    DIED! 


THE  HUMOR  OF  THE  GREEKS 

even  while  they  were  laughing,  she  fell  off  the  roof, 
and  went  to  Hades!" 

It  would  be  impossible  to  write  of  Hellenic 
humor  without  saying  something  of  the  greatest 
humorist  of  them  all,  of  whom  the  poet  sang: 

"The  Graces,  seeking  an  everlasting  shrine, 
built  it  for  themselves  in  the  heart  of  Aris- 
tophanes." 

Aristophanes  was,  of  course,  a  great  deal  more 
than  a  humorist,  a  writer  of  successful  comedies. 
He  was  a  satirist  with  a  mission,  up  to  his  neck  in 
politics  and  religious  controversies,  writing  every 
play  to  carry  a  point  or  to  drive  home  some 
political  doctrine.  He  was  a  pamphleteer  as 
well  as  a  playwright;  indeed,  his  plays  are  often 
political  pamphlets;  or,  since  he  was  of  the  older 
party,  very  aristocratic  and  an  enemy  of  the 
radicals,  one  might  compare  him  to  Butler,  and 
his  plays  to  Hudibras.  But  we  have  nothing 
quite  like  him,  as  he  pours  forth  his  torrents  of 
humor,  laughing,  mocking,  satirizing,  tremen- 
dously earnest  with  his  jests,  fighting  the  battles 
of  the  state  with  his  eloquent  puppets  of  the 
stage.  Perhaps  the  best  of  his  plays,  for  our 
purpose,  and  the  most  illustrative  of  the  quality 
of  his  humor  is  that  which  he  directed  against  the 
too  eloquent,  too  tearful  poet  Euripides,  whom 
he  accused  of  maligning  the  whole  race  of  women. 
The  plot  of  the  play  is  in  the  highest  degree 
humorous,  for  Aristophanes  depicts  the  women  of 
Athens  gathering  to  celebrate  the  Mysteries  of 
Ceres,  dark  goddess  of  the  fertile  earth — those 

163 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

mysteries  at  which  no  man  might  be  present  on 
pain  of  death. 

And  on  the  mid  fast  of  the  festival  they  are  to 
hold  a  woman's  parliament  and  to  impeach  Euripi- 
des. The  poet,  hearing  of  this,  is  terrified,  and 
tells  his  old  cousin  Mnesilochus  that  he  will  try 
to  persuade  the  effeminate  poet  Agathon  to  put 
on  woman's  weeds,  mingle  with  the  women,  and 
try  to  change  their  opinion  to  one  more  kindly  to 
Euripides.  But  Agathon  refuses  in  a  very  funny 
scene,  and  old  Mnesilochus  is  presently  entrapped 
into  promising  to  go  himself  in  disguise.  Then 
follows  a  scene  of  roaring  farce,  in  which  the  old 
fellow  is  shaved  and  singed  and  dressed  in  woman's 
garments,  and  in  the  middle  of  the  scene  begins 
to  howl  and  tries  to  escape  with  one  cheek  still 
unshaven.  In  due  time  we  see  him  mingling  with 
the  women,  when  the  assembled  angry  dames  are 
bringing  a  railing  accusation  against  Euripides, 
full  of  quotations  from  his  own  honied  verse: 


Upon  my  word,  we  can't  do  anything 

We  used  to  do;  he  has  made  the  men  so  silly. 

Suppose  I'm  hard  at  work  upon  a  chaplet, 

Hey,  she's  in  love  with  somebody;  suppose 

I  chance  to  drop  a  pitcher  on  the  floor, 

And  straightway  'tis,  For  whom  was  this  intended? 

I  warrant  now,  for  our  Corinthian  friend  .  .  . 

The  rich  old  men 

Who  used  to  marry  us  are  grown  so  shy 
We  never  catch  them  now;  and  all  because 
Euripides  declares,  the  scandal-monger, 
An  old  man  weds  a  Tyrant,  not  a  wife! 
164 


THE  HUMOR  OF  THE  GREEKS 

Very  quotable  is  the  eloquent  chorus  of  women, 
who  come  forward  in  defense  of  the  fair  sex  which 
Euripides  has  so  poetically  traduced,  as  they 
aver: 

Now  let  us  turn  to  the  people,  our  own  panegyric  to  render. 
Men  never  speak  a  good  word,  never  one,  for  the  feminine 

gender, 

Every  one  says  we're  a  Plague,  the  source  of  all  evils  to  man, 
War,  dissension,  and  strife.  Come,  answer  me  this,  if  you 

can; 
Why,  if  we're  really  a  Plague,  you're  so  anxious  to  have  us  for 

wives; 
And  charge  us  not  to  be  gadding,  nor  to  stir  out-of-doors  for 

our  lives? 

Isn't  it  silly  to  guard  a  Plague  with  such  scrupulous  care? 
Lord!  how  you  rave,  coming  home,  if  your  poor  little  wife 

isn't  there. 
Should  you  not  rather  be  glad,  and  rejoice  all  the  days  of 

your  life, 

Rid  of  a  Plague,  you  know,  the  source  of  dissension  and  strife? 
If  on  a  visit  we  sport,  and  sleep  when  the  sporting  is  over, 
Oh,  how  you  rummage  about;  what  a  fuss,  your  lost  Plague 

to  discover! 
Every  one  stares  at  your  Plague  if  she  happens  to  look  on  the 

street : 
Stares  all  the  more  if  your  Plague  thinks  proper  to  blush  and 

retreat. 

We  cannot  carry  this  world-old  controversy 
further,  nor  follow  the  detection  of  Mnesilochus, 
or  his  recourse  to  the  famous  stage-trick:  "Hit 
me  now,  with  a  child  in  me  arms!'7  where  the 
child  turns  out  to  be  a  dummy,  and  no  authentic 
infant  at  all;  nor  can  we  linger  over  his  arrest 
by  the  Scythian  policeman,  his  screamingly  funny 

165 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

allusions  to  Euripides's  plays  for  plans  of  escape, 
where  he  imagines  himself  to  be  fair  Andromeda 
chained  to  the  rock,  awaiting  Perseus,  or  Helen, 
loveliest  of  all,  fleeing  from  Egypt,  the  whole 
ending  in  boisterous,  roistering  farce.  We  get 
nothing  so  good  again  in  literature,  until  we 
come  to  the  comedies  of  Shakespeare. 


XII 

ARISTOPHANES   AND   THE   LADIES 

ONE  of  the  most  entertaining  things,  and  one 
of  the  most  wonderful,  in  the  literature  of  the 
world  is  the  way  in  which  Aristophanes  has 
foreseen  by  three  and  twenty  centuries  so  many 
sides  of  the  great  modern  movement  for  the 
liberation  of  women. 

What  a  genius,  what  splendid  creative  power, 
what  turbulent  force,  what  uproarious  laughter 
and  mirth,  and,  through  it  all,  how  keen  a  sense 
of  beauty  and  grace! 

I  doubt  if  the  prim  Grecians  who  write  of  Attic 
literature  do  him  justice.  We  see  Greece  and 
Athens  too  much  through  their  eyes:  the  gloom 
of  the  great  tragedies,  the  death  of  Socrates,  the 
rigors  of  war,  the  high  seriousness  of  Plato,  the 
severe  beauty  of  the  Acropolis.  Then  comes  the 
raging,  roaring  mirth-maker  Aristophanes,  with 
furious  delight  parodying  the  fine  tragedies  of 
Euripides,  turning  Socrates  to  the  uses  of  farce, 
making  the  white  beauty  of  the  Acropolis  the 
scene  of  a  feminist  demonstration,  and  burlesquing 
the  " Republic"  of  Plato.  But  for  his  volcanic 
naturalism,  he  would  be  one  of  the  most  read 
authors  in  the  world. 

12  167 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

Like  Euripides,  whom  he  so  ferociously  mocks, 
he  is  always  girding  at  women,  a  thing  more  in- 
telligible, perhaps,  when  we  remember  that  his 
plays  were  played  by  men  for  audiences  of  men, 
and  so  tend  to  have  a  "  smoking-room"  flavor.  But 
underneath  this  mockery,  and  penetrating  it  with 
light,  is  the  prophetic  vision  of  things  to  come. 
Yet  even  in  the  midst  of  his  vision,  such  is  his 
uncontrollable  genius  for  comedy,  Aristophanes 
bursts  out  into  shouts  and  gales  of  laughter.  He 
beholds  the  future,  and  then  he  surrounds  it  with 
a  golden  vapor  of  humor. 

Two  of  his  comedies — music  dramas,  perhaps, 
they  ought  to  be  called — deal  especially  with  move- 
ments of  upheaval  among  the  women;  and  it  is 
significant  that,  even  when  his  fun  is  fast  and 
furious,  Aristophanes  pierces  through  to  the 
heart  of  the  matter  and  foresees  certain  vital 
truths  that  have  been  hidden  until  our  own  day. 
Foremost  among  these  is  a  realization  that  the 
enfranchisement  of  women  would  make  for  world 
peace.  That  is  the  motive  of  one  of  his  plays. 

I  remember  how,  at  the  graduation  day 
exercises  of  a  famed  college  for  women,  the 
speech  of  the  day  was  made  by  the  distinguished 
president  of  a  Western  university.  A  convinced 
advocate  of  universal  peace,  he  appealed  to  the 
girl  students  before  him  on  behalf  of  world  amity; 
and  he  put  his  appeal  on  this  ground:  In  all 
ages  of  the  world,  he  said,  the  finest  of  the  young 
men,  and  the  most  manly,  have  gone  to  war;  and 
the  bones  of  these  possible  bridegrooms  lie  whiten- 

168 


ARISTOPHANES  AND  THE  LADIES 

ing  on  every  battle-field.  Would  it  not  be  vastly 
more  profitable  for  the  girls,  if,  instead  of  tying 
ribbons  on  their  heroes'  arms,  and  sending  them 
forth  to  die,  they  kept  them  at  home  and  married 
them,  instead  of  accepting  merely  the  leavings, 
the  weak  and  one-eyed,  who  cannot  go  to  war? 
Would  not  this  make  for  the  uplift  of  the  race? 

A  most  practical  appeal  to  make  to  marriageable 
maidens,  and  one  which  they  listened  to,  with 
demure  faces  and  well-suppressed  smiles.  Well, 
this  modern  plea  is  practically  the  motive  of  one 
of  the  best  of  Aristophanes's  music  comedies. 
The  play  was  written  and  produced  at  Athens, 
after  the  great  war  with  Sparta  had  been  raging 
for  more  than  twenty  years,  the  women  of  all 
Hellas  meanwhile  suffering  bereavement  and  all 
the  terrors  and  sorrows  of  those  whose  husbands 
and  brothers  are  in  the  midst  of  death.  Aris- 
tophanes takes  this  situation  and  makes  uproari- 
ous comedy  of  it. 

Lysistrata,  the  leading  lady  of  the  play,  keenly 
sensible  of  this  bereavement,  has  summoned  a 
meeting  of  the  wives  and  maids  of  Greece,  from 
Sparta,  from  Thebes,  from  Corinth;  and  slowly 
and  stragglingly  they  assemble  in  all  the  grace 
and  charm  that  Grecian  art  has  made  imperishable. 
Lysistrata  upbraids  them  for  their  tardiness  in 
coming,  and  tells  them  that,  had  it  been  a  rendez- 
vous instead  of  a  solemn  assembly,  their  feet  would 
have  had  wings.  Then  she  enumerates,  and  they 
all  indorse,  their  many  sorrows  and  privations 
because  of  the  war,  and,  when  all  have  been 

169 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

won  to  equal  enthusiasm  and  assent,  she  sets  forth 
her  plan  of  peace. 

That  plan  is  twofold.  The  more  vital  part  is  a 
marriage  -  strike,  in  which  all  swear  to  join;  to 
cut  themselves  off  from  all  sweet  domesticities, 
from  love-making  and  honeyed  words,  from  all 
secret  meetings  and  caresses,  from  everything 
that  delights  the  heart  of  man  and  brings  it  joy, 
until  such  time  as  peace,  universal  throughout  all 
Hellas,  the  north  and  the  southern  peninsula 
alike,  is  signed,  sealed  and  sworn. 

The  ladies  are  recalcitrant.  Tender  hearts 
cannot  resolve  on  such  hard  measures.  Creatures 
so  made  for  amiability  and  sweetness  cannot 
easily  make  themselves  hard  and  morose.  Yet 
the  greater  good  prevails,  and  they  swear  to  join  in 
universal  boycott  of  all  that  gives  delight  to  their 
lords  and  lovers,  barring  their  hearts  against 
every  festive  humor  and  gladsome  hour. 

Then,  in  the  scene  of  swearing,  the  uproarious 
humor  of  Aristophanes  breaks  forth.  The  ques- 
tion arises,  by  what  they  are  to  swear.  Lysistrata, 
who  throughout  holds  the  tone  of  high  seriousness, 
bids  them  lay  a  shield  on  the  ground,  the  hollow 
side  up,  to  catch  the  blood  of  the  slaughtered 
victim,  while  they  swear,  like  the  Seven  against 
Thebes  of  Aeschylus,  by  the  sacred  shield. 

But  the  others  object.  How  swear  on  a  weapon 
of  war,  in  the  cause  of  peace,  even  over  the  blood 
of  an  innocent  sheep?  Then  a  white  horse  is  sug- 
gested as  the  victim,  but  this  is  voted  down. 
Finally  Lysistrata  suggests,  instead  of  a  shield, 

170 


ARISTOPHANES  AND  THE  LADIES 

a  goblet,  and  to  replace  the  blood  of  the  victim 
a  generous  portion  of  Thasian  wine.  They  all 
assent  with  alacrity,  and  there  begins  an  eager 
rivalry  as  to  who  shall  drink  first.  Lysistrata 
administers  the  oath,  and  they  promise  solemnly 
to  abjure  matrimony  and  all  love-making,  to  hold 
themselves  in  gloomy  solitude;  if  embraced,  to 
yield  themselves  log-like,  without  sympathy  or 
response;  to  put  all  sweetness  and  gentleness  from 
their  hearts;  and,  as  they  shall  keep  this  true 
oath,  they  shall  drink  from  the  Thasian  goblet, 
but,  if  they  forswear  themselves,  may  the  wine 
turn  to  water  on  their  lips! 

Meanwhile  the  minor  part  of  the  plan  is  going 
forward.  While  the  younger  women  have  been 
abjuring  Hymen,  the  elder  have  had  a  sterner 
task.  Realizing  that  war  cannot  be  carried  on 
by  mere  fighting,  but  needs  great  outlay  of 
treasure,  they  have  determined  to  enter  the 
Acropolis,  under  guise  of  worship,  and  seize  the 
sacred  treasure  in  the  great  temple  of  Athene, 
barring  the  white,  lovely  shrine  against  rude  and 
combative  man.  So  the  scene  changes  to  the 
wonderful  Acropolis,  the  marvel  of  the  world  and 
of  all  later  times,  and  round  this  matchless  shrine 
Aristophanes  gathers  his  mirth-makers  in  the 
wildest  spirit  of  uproarious  comedy.  The  victory 
of  the  women,  .the  culminating  scene  in  which 
the  warriors  find  their  hearts  succumb  to  the 
longing  for  domestic  love,  are  supremely  splendid 
comedy,  in  spite  of  the  turbulent  naturalism  of  the 
poet.  And  the  drama  ends  on  a  high  note  of 

171 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

serenity  illumined  by  humor,  in  the  eloquent  speech 
of  the  Spartan  ambassador,  and  the  closing  words 
of  Lysistrata:  "Let  us  go,  since  all  has  ended 
happily;  lead  forth  your  wives,  Laconians,  and, 
Athenians,  lead  forth  yours;  the  husband  beside 
the  wife,  the  wife  beside  the  husband.  To  cele- 
brate this  happy  peace,  let  us  form  choruses  in 
honor  of  the  gods,  and  in  the  future  let  us  abstain 
from  sin!" 

The  other  great  music  comedy  in  which  Aris- 
tophanes sings  of  the  revolt  of  the  women  belongs 
to  a  period  two  decades  later,  when  Athens  had  been 
thoroughly  beaten  by  Sparta,  and  when,  to  repair 
her  shattered  fortunes,  she  had  sought  an  alliance 
with  her  fierce  old  enemy,  Thebes.  This  had 
turned  out  disastrously,  and  Aristophanes,  the 
stubborn  old  conservative,  came  forth  with  a  rail- 
ing accusation  against  the  politicians,  an  attack 
which  took  the  form  of  high  comedy,  where  the 
women,  disgusted  at  the  men's  puttering  in- 
competence and  misrule,  determined  to  take  mat- 
ters into  their  own  hands  and  rule  in  their  stead. 

Here  again  the  serious  thought  and  purpose 
of  Aristophanes  is  hidden  under  a  mask  of  broad 
burlesque.  He  imagines  a  ridiculous  expedient, 
eminently  fitting  in  musical  comedy:  that  the 
women  shall  seize  power  by  capturing  a  hurry 
vote  in  the  assembly,  and  that  they  shall  do  this 
by  going  disguised  to  the  meeting-place  and  vot- 
ing, as  men,  for  the  rule  of  women. 

So  we  are  confronted,  in  the  first  act,  by  a 
slender  gathering  of  women,  wearing  false  beards, 

172 


ARISTOPHANES  AND  THE  LADIES 

awkwardly  draped  in  their  husbands7  cloaks, 
wearing  large  masculine  shoes,  and  bracing  their 
courage  for  an  attack  on  the  assembly.  In- 
cidentally, we  learn  that,  to  make  sure  of  a 
majority  of  votes,  they  have  sought  to  keep  their 
husbands  away  from  the  morning  session  by 
giving  them  too  much  supper  the  evening  before. 
And  there  is  a  scene  of  true  music  comedy,  in 
which  the  women  describe  the  preparation  of  their 
disguises  and  fill  their  mouths  with  large,  mas- 
culine oaths.  One  of  the  ladies  causes  consterna- 
tion by  declaring  that  she  has  brought  her  spinning 
and  hopes  to  do  a  little  peaceful  work  while  she 
listens  to  the  others'  speeches.  Much  of  this 
excellent  fooling  reminds  us  of  Rosalind's  disguise 
in  the  Forest  of  Arden. 

When  the  women  are  properly  fitted  out,  Praxa- 
gora,  their  leader,  makes  an  eloquent  little  speech 
which  announces  their  principles: 

" Friends/7  she  says,  "I  have  an  equal  stake 
with  you  in  this  land  of  ours.  And  my  heart 
grows  heavy  when  I  behold  the  misgovernment  of 
the  state.  For  I  see  the  city  ever  employing 
rogues.  If  any  of  them  governs  well  for  a  day,  he 
makes  up  for  it  by  ten  days  of  misrule.  You 
turn  to  another;  he  is  far  worse.  It  is  no  easy 
thing  to  give  counsel  to  headstrong  men,  who 
always  mistrust  those  who  love  you  best,  and  lend 
your  ear  to  those  who  love  you  not.  Not  so  long 
ago  we  did  not  come  at  all  to  the  assemblies;  we 
knew  well  that  Agyrrhius,  the  leader,  was  a  rascal. 
Now  we  come,  and  he  who  gets  the  silver  praises 

173 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

him,  but  he  who  gets  nothing  swears  that  he  who 
gets  it  ought  to  die." 

Then  one  of  the  ladies,  won  by  so  much  elo- 
quence, cries  out:  "By  Aphrodite,  it  is  well 
said!"  Only  to  be  reprimanded  for  using  such 
effeminate  oaths. 

Praxagora  proceeds  with  her  oration,  reproaching 
the  Athenians  with  their  fickleness.  First  they 
sought  the  league  with  the  enemies  of  Sparta; 
now  they  reprehend  it.  First  they  loved  the 
Corinthians;  now  they  cannot  endure  them.  Here 
one  of  the  lady  auditors,  well  coached,  breaks  in 
with:  "The  man  speaks  well!"  And  the  lady 
orator  warmly  acknowledges  what  is  now  a  fitting 
tribute.  Praxagora  then  sums  up:  The  light- 
minded  Athenians  receive  from  the  public  purse 
a  wage  for  voting,  yet  each  of  them  is  intent  only 
on  his  private  gain.  So  the  state  reels  like  a 
drunkard.  Still  there  is  one  possibility  of  salva- 
tion: let  the  city  be  given  over  to  the  rule  of  the 
women,  who  show  such  powers  of  government  in 
their  own  houses. 

Then  breaks  forth  a  genuine  expression  of  the 
spirit  of  Aristophanes.  He,  a  conservative,  praises 
women  for  a  conservatism  that  is  all  his  own. 
They  dye  their  wool  in  the  ancient  fashion,  he 
says,  and  try  no  new  plans.  Might  not  Athens 
have  been  safe  if  she,  too,  had  dyed  her  wool, 
in  the  old  way,  and  left  new  plans  alone?  Women 
are  right  conservatives: 

They  bake  their  honied  cheese-cakes,  as  of  old; 
They  victimize  their  husbands,  as  of  old; 
174 


ARISTOPHANES  AND  THE  LADIES 

They  still  secrete  their  lovers,  as  of  old; 
They  buy  themselves  sly  dainties,  as  of  old; 
They  love  their  wine  un watered,  as  of  old : 
Then  let  us,  gentlemen,  give  up  to  them 
The  helm  of  state,  and  not  concern  ourselves, 
Nor  pry,  nor  question  what  they  mean  to  do; 
But  let  them  really  govern,  knowing  this, 
The  statesman-mothers  never  will  neglect 
Their  soldier-sons .    And  then  a  soldier's  rations , 
Who  will  supply  as  well  as  she  who  bare  him? 

This  is  but  the  rehearsal.  The  women  settle 
their  disguises,  see  that  their  beards  are  on  straight, 
tuck  up  their  tunics,  and  set  out  for  the  assembly, 
where,  we  learn,  their  plans  are  perfectly  success- 
ful. The  motion  of  Praxagora  is  put  and  carried, 
and  the  Athenians,  partly  persuaded  to  by  the 
votes  of  the  temporarily  bearded  ladies,  hand 
over  to  the  women  the  governance  of  the  state. 

That  is  the  first  part  of  the  play,  but  at  this 
pohit  Aristophanes  suddenly  succumbs  to  tempta- 
tion, and  his  music  comedy  breaks  in  two  across 
the  middle.  The  temptation  was  a  tremendous 
one,  so  great  that  we  are  almost  driven  to  call  it, 
not  a  snare,  but  a  superb  opportunity.  Yet  we 
are  constrained  to  add  that  to  the  height  of  his 
opportunity  Aristophanes  failed  to  rise. 

It  was  no  less  than  this:  Plato  had  just  pub- 
lished his  "  Republic,"  and  it  was  superlatively  open 
to  parody.  The  dramatist  who  had  made  such 
fun  of  Socrates  could  not  resist  such  an  oppor- 
tunity as  this;  and  it  is  only  in  the  light  of  Plato's 
growing  splendor  through  twenty-three  centuries 
that  we  may  realize  what  an  opportunity  it  was. 

175 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

A  new  work  of  Plato's;  one  of  his  greatest,  as  theme 
for  a  new  music  comedy.  What  gift  of  the  god  of 
chance  was  ever  equal  to  that? 

Yet  we  are  constrained  to  say  that  Aristophanes 
foozles.  He  seizes  the  wrong  point,  or  treats  it 
wrongly.  Plato  had  said  something  concerning 
domestic  affections  and  the  danger  that  they 
might  narrow  the  heart  to  a  " selfishness  of  two." 
Therefore  he  suggested  that,  in  certain  high  cases, 
wives  might  be  elected  or  co-opted;  that  they 
might  be  functionaries  rather  than  property,  so 
that  this  narrowing  passion  might  not  grow. 

Aristophanes  seizes  on  this  new  notion,  the 
antecedent  of  our  modern  eugenics,  and  distorts 
it  into  a  human  emulation  of  the  sparrows,  a  sort 
of  matrimonial  go-as-you-please.  And  he  builds 
the  second  part  of  his  plot  on  the  idea  that  the 
women  of  Athens,  having  gained  command  of  the 
state,  shall  use  their  power  to  institute  this  con- 
jugal lucky-bag,  and  inaugurate  a  millennium  of 
promiscuity. 

We  can  in  part  forgive  the  great  comedian.  His 
grudge  is  against  Plato  and  all  innovators,— 
and  he  spoils  his  play  by  using  it  to  vent  his 
spleen  against  Plato's  high  and  unassailable  se- 
renity. He  fails,  but  he  fails  splendidly,  and  there 
is  no  grain  of  malice  in  his  uproarious  laughter. 


XIII 

LUCIAN'S   AVIATION   STORY 

IT  is  time  for  us  to  build  a  monument  to  Jules 
Verne.  He  is  the  true  prophet  of  this  miraculous 
year.  The  journey  *to  the  North  Pole,  the  sub- 
marine boat  of  Captain  Nemo,  the  coming  of  the 
Comet,  the  men-birds  flying  thousands  of  miles 
through  the  air:  all  are  in  his  books;  all  were  in 
his  books  thirty  years  ago.  In  the  submarines, 
such  details  as  the  motors  and  the  air  replenished 
by  oxygen  from  chlorate  of  potash  were  fore- 
told by  him;  in  the  flying-machines  he  used  pure 
hydrogen,  and  wove  a  balloon  within  a  balloon, 
as  did  the  latest  aspirant  for  transatlantic  honors. 
Well  did  his  good  wife  say  of  him  that  Jules  Verne 
was  not  a  novelist,  but  a  prophet.  Let  us  build 
him  a  monument,  since  he  foretold  this  marvelous 
time. 

Two  of  his  stories  we  have  not  yet  caught  up 
on:  the  voyage  to  the  moon,  and  the  journey  to 
the  center  of  the  earth;  but  no  doubt  we  shall; 
the  more  so,  because  in  these  two  marvels  he  was 
not  the  pioneer,  for  Lucian,  the  witty  Greek- 
speaking  Syrian  of  the  Roman  Empire,  had  made 
both  trips  before  him,  had  journeyed  as  far  as  the 

177 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

moon,  and  even  to  the  center  of  the  earth,  if  so 
be  that  Hades  is  at  the  center  of  the  earth. 

Jules  Verne  clothed  scientific  prophecy  in  the 
cloak  of  a  story,  and  thereby  enraptured  a  myriad 
of  boys  who  had  faith  enough  to  believe  in  him 
while  they  read.  Lucian  clothes  satire  in  the 
form  of  veridical  history,  and  thereby  delights 
all  who  have  any  enjoyment  of  pretty  writing, 
any  sympathy  for  his  keen  and  graceful,  or,  indeed, 
often  graceless  satire.  Why  did  they  not  make  us 
read  Lucian  when  we  were  studying  Greek? 
Was  it  because  he  was  too  entertaining,  or  because 
he  is  faintly  naughty?  I  know  not;  but  I  regret 
that  so  delicious  a  writer  should  not  find  his  way 
into  the  hands  of  boys.  One  may  almost  call  him 
the  writer  of  French  novels  in  Greek,  for  the  times 
of  Marcus  Aurelius;  for  the  spirit  of  the  French 
novel  of  the  better  sort,  and  of  some  of  the  other 
sorts  too,  is  in  his  books,  and  the  form  itself  is  a 
triumph  of  gentle  satire:  the  matter  of  the  light 
comedies  of  Menander,  poured  into  the  molds 
of  Plato;  frivolity  in  graceful  dialogue,  with  the 
spirit  of  honest  and  truth-loving  skepticism  through 
it  all. 

So  we  come  to  that  journey  to  the  moon. 
Lucian  did  not  make  the  trip  in  his  proper  person, 
but  foists  it  upon  a  certain  imaginary  person, 
Icaromenippus,  a  cross  between  Menippus,  the 
cynic  philosopher  of  Gadara,  and  that  Icarus,  son 
of  Daedalus,  who  fled,  or  rather  flew,  from  the 
realm  of  Minos,  King  of  Crete,  toward  Italy  and, 
like  one  of  our  own  bird-men,  came  toppling  down 

178 


LUCIAN'S  AVIATION  STORY 

into  the  water,  not  because  his  engine  stopped, 
but  because,  rashly  flying  too  close  to  the  sun, 
the  wax  which  held  his  wings  on  got  melted. 

Icaromenippus  was  equipped,  as  we  should  now 
say,  with  a  monoplane  which  he  himself  somewhat 
inadequately  describes  as  made  of  the  right  wing 
of  an  eagle  and  the  left  wing  of  a  vulture,  these 
two  alone  having  wings  fit  to  bear  aloft  sovereign 
man.  Incidentally,  he  had  neither  equilibrator 
nor  wing  feathers;  perhaps  that  is  why  he  safely 
reached  the  moon.  He  began  cautiously  with 
safe  experiments,  first  jumping  up  and  helping 
the  jump  by  flapping  his  hands,  or  imitating  the 
way  a  goose  raises  itself  without  leaving  the 
ground  and  combines  running  with  flight.  Any- 
one who  has  attended  an  aviation  meet  will 
recognize  the  accuracy  of  this.  Then,  finding  the 
machine  obedient,  he  next  made  a  bolder  venture, 
went  up  to  the  Acropolis  of  Athens,  and  launched 
himself  from  the  cliff,  right  over  the  theater. 
Getting  safely  to  the  bottom  that  time,  his 
aspirations  shot  up  aloft.  He  took  to  starting 
from  the  hilltop  of  Parnes  or  Hymettus,  flying 
to  Geranea,  thence  to  the  pinnacle  of  Corinth, 
and  over  Pholoe  and  Erymanthus  to  Taygetus. 
The  training  for  his  venture  was  now  complete; 
his  powers  were  developed  and  equal  to  lofty 
flight;  he  had  tuned  up  his  plane,  in  the  language 
of  a  later  day.  So  he  went  to  Mount  Olympus, 
provisioning  himself  as  lightly  as  possible,  and 
soared  skyward,  giddy  at  first  with  that  great 
void  below,  but  soon  conquering  this  difficulty . 

179 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

When  he  approached  the  moon,  long  after  parting 
from  the  clouds,  he  was  conscious  of  fatigue,  es- 
pecially in  the  left  or  vulture's  wing,  so  he  alighted 
and  sat  down  to  rest,  having  a  bird's-eye  view  of 
the  earth,  like  the  Homeric  Zeus, 

Surveying  now  the  Thrasian  horseman's  land, 
Now,  Mysia, 

and  again,  as  the  fancy  took  him,  Greece  or  Persia 
or  India.  From  all  of  which  he  drew  a  manifold 
delight.  Imagine  yourself,  he  says,  first  descrying 
a  tiny  earth,  far  smaller  than  the  moon  looks;  on 
turning  his  eyes  down,  he  could  not  think  for  some 
time  what  had  become  of  the  mighty  mountains 
and  the  vast  sea.  If  he  had  not  caught  sight  of 
the  Colossus  of  Rhodes  and  the  Pharus  tower  at 
Alexandria,  he  might  never  have  identified  the 
earth  at  all.  But  their  height  and  projection, 
with  the  faint  shimmer  of  the  ocean  in  the  sun, 
showed  him  that  it  must  be  the  earth  he  was 
looking  at.  Then,  when  once  he  had  got  his  sight 
properly  focused,  the  whole  human  race  became 
clear  to  him,  not  merely  in  the  shape  of  nations 
and  cities,  but  the  simple,  separate  persons  sailing, 
fighting,  plowing,  going  to  law;  the  women,  the 
beasts,  and,  in  short,  every  breed  "that  feedeth 
on  earth's  foison." 

Here  the  friend  to  whom  Icaromenippus  tells 
the  tale  breaks  in. 

"Most  unconvincing  and  contradictory,"  he 
says.  "First,  the  earth  was  so  diminished  by 
distance  that  you  could  only  identify  it  by  the 

180 


LUCIAN'S  AVIATION  STORY 

Colossus  of  Rhodes,  and  then  you  suddenly  de- 
velop such  vision  as  had  that  first  lynx-eyed 
Argonaut,  who  could  distinguish  things  nine  miles 
off." 

Icaromenippus  defends  himself  by  saying  that, 
on  the  advice  of  Empedocles,  the  physicist,  or 
rather  his  ghost,  whom  he  found  inhabiting  the 
lunar  vales,  and  who  came  up  most  opportunely 
at  the  moment,  he  borrowed  an  eagle's  eye,  and 
could  then  see  splendidly.  Of  course,  it  is  obvious 
that  he  means  a  telescope.  Racy,  indeed,  and 
full  of  brilliant  satire  is  his  account  of  what  he 
saw,  looking  thus  downward  from  his  high  point 
of  vantage  upon  the  children  of  men,  the  host  of 
" burglars,  litigants,  usurers,  duns";  glancing  at 
Getica,  he  saw  the  Geta3  at  war;  at  Scythia,  there 
were  the  Scythians  wandering  about  on  their 
wagons;  half  a  turn  in  another  direction  gave  him 
Egypt,  with  the  sons  of  the  Pharaohs  at  the 
plow,  or  Phoenicians  chaffering,  Silician  pirates, 
Spartan  flagellants,  Athenians  at  law.  But  he 
seems  to  have  missed  the  United  States. 

He  was  especially  amused,  he  tells  his  friend,  by 
those  who  dispute  about  boundaries  or  pride  them- 
selves on  cultivating  the  plain  of  Sicyon  or  a 
thousand  acres  at  Acharnse.  Fcr  the  whole  of 
Greece  as  he  saw  it  might  measure  some  four 
inches;  how  much  smaller,  then,  was  Athens  on 
the  same  scale!  Then  he  looked  at  the  Pelopon- 
nesus, and  his  eyes  fell  on  the  Cynurian  district, 
and  the  thought  occurred  to  him  that  it  was  for 
this  little  plot,  no  broader  than  an  Egyptian 

181 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

lentil,  that  so  many  Argives  and  Spartans  fell  in  a 
single  day.  Or  if  he  saw  a  man  puffed  up  by  the 
possession  of  seven  or  eight  gold  rings  and  half  as 
many  gold  cups,  his  lungs  began  to  crow,  for 
Mount  Pangseus,  with  all  its  mines,  was  about  the 
size  of  a  grain  of  millet.  Men  and  cities  suggested 
to  him  so  many  ant-hills. 

When  he  had  laughed  to  his  heart's  content, 
Icaromenippus  once  more  spread  his  wings  and 
soared,  but  he  had  only  flown  a  couple  of  hundred 
yards  when  he  heard  the  shrill  voice  of  Selene, 
the  moon-goddess,  herself.  She  had  a  grievance. 
The  astronomers,  it  would  seem,  had  been  paying 
her  too  many  attentions,  inquiring  about  her  size, 
her  waist  measurement,  her  waxing  and  waning, 
and  the  like;  and  she  felt  affronted,  as  a  maiden 
lady  naturally  would.  Therefore  she  begged  the 
bird-man  to  betake  him  to  great  Zeus,  father  of 
gods  and  men,  carrying  thither  her  plaint  and 
begging  his  corrective  intercession.  Moreover, 
said  good  lady  Moon,  the  things  she  saw  on 
moonlit  nights — well,  she  simply  had  to  hide  her 
face  in  the  cloud-veils. 

So  Icaromenippus  promised  to  bear  the  message 
to  high  Zeus.  Soon  the  moon  was  but  a  small 
object  in  the  sky,  as  he  soared  through  the  farther 
empyrean,  and  the  earth  was  completely  hidden 
behind  it. 

Three  days'  flight  through  the  stars  with  the 
sun  on  his  right  hand  brought  him  to  heaven; 
and  his  first  idea  was  to  go  straight  in,  trusting 
his  eagle's  wing  to  pass  muster  before  Zeus; 

182 


LUCIAN'S  AVIATION  STORY 

but,  on  second  thoughts  remembering  that  the 
left  wing  had  come  from  a  vulture,  he  had 
misgivings,  and,  humbly  knocking  at  the  door, 
gave  his  name  to  Hermes,  he  of  the  winged  hat 
and  sandals.  Hermes  went  off  to  announce  him 
to  Zeus,  and  after  a  brief  wait  he  was  asked  to 
step  in. 

Trembling  with  apprehension,  he  went  for- 
ward and  found  the  gods,  all  seated  together 
and,  as  it  seemed  to  him,  not  quite  easy  among 
themselves.  The  unexpected  nature  of  the  visit 
was  slightly  disturbing  to  them,  and  they  had  vi- 
sions of  all  mankind  arriving  at  his  heels  by  the 
same  conveyance.  It  was  an  earlier  version  of 
An  Englishman's  Home. 

But  Zeus  bent  upon  him  a  Titanic  glance, 
awful,  penetrating,  and  spoke: 

"Who  art  thou?  Where  thy  city?  Who  thy 
kin?" 

At  the  sound,  Icaromenippus  nearly  died  with 
fright,  but  he  remained  upright,  though  mute  and 
paralyzed  by  that  thunderous  voice.  Gradually 
recovering,  he  began  at  the  beginning  and  gave 
a  clear  account  of  himself:  how  he  had  been 
possessed  with  curiosity  about  the  heavens,  had 
gone  to  the  philosophers,  found  their  accounts 
conflicting,  and  grown  tired  of  being  logically 
rent  in  twain;  so  he  came  to  his  great  idea  of 
wings,  and  ultimately  to  heaven.  He  added  the 
message  of  the  maiden  lady  Moon,  whereat  great 
Zeus  smiled.  The  king  of  the  gods  bade  him  make 
himself  at  home,  spite  of  his  soaring  presumption, 

13  183 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

outdoing  that  of  the  two  giants,  Otus  and  Ephi- 
altes,  who  piled  Ossa  on  Olympus,  and  Pelion 
on  Ossa,  in  their  attempt  to  climb  to  heaven. 

"For  to-day/7  said  Zeus,  "consider  yourself  our 
guest.  To-morrow  we  will  treat  with  you  of  your 
business  and  send  you  on  your  way."  And 
therewith  he  rose  and  walked  to  the  acoustic 
center  of  heaven,  it  being  prayer-time. 

And  here  we  come  upon  the  most  essential  spirit 
of  this  quick-witted  Syrian  Greek,  his  keen 
skepticism,  demolishing  alike  the  old  Homeric 
fables  of  the  gods  of  Olympus  and  the  new  systems 
of  the  philosophers,  whether  they  followed  Plato 
or  Aristotle  or  Zeno  the  Stoic.  His  disbelief  is 
all-embracing,  his  destructive  wit  touches  every- 
thing alike;  yet  one  feels  that  honesty  is  at  the 
bottom  of  it  all.  It  is  the  fables  of  the  poets,  the 
pretensions  of  the  philosophers  that  have  turned 
his  gorge;  and  at  heart  he  is  far  more  religious  than 
they,  even  while  mocking  at  their  semblance  of 
religion.  So  we  may  follow  him,  in  the  person 
of  his  bird-man  Icaromenippus,  to  "the  acoustic 
center  of  heaven,"  at  the  time  of  prayer. 

As  Zeus  and  the  flying  philosopher  went  thither 
together,  the  god  put  questions  to  the  man  con- 
cerning earthly  affairs;  asking,  to  begin  with, 
how  much  was  wheat  a  quarter  in  Greece?  Had 
the  Athenians  suffered  much  from  cold  last  winter? 
Did  the  vegetable  gardens  need  more  rain?  Then 
Zeus  wished  to  know  whether  any  of  the  kin  of 
Pheidias  were  still  alive,  why  his  festival  had  not 
been  celebrated  at  Athens  for  ever  so  many  years, 

184 


LUCIAN'S  AVIATION  STORY 

whether  his  Olympieum  was  ever  going  to  be 
completed,  and  had  the  men  who  robbed  his  temple 
at  Dodona  been  caught?  The  bird-man  answered 
all  these  inquiries,  and  Zeus  began  again: 

"Tell  me,  Menippus,  what  are  men's  feelings 
toward  me?" 

"What  should  they  be,  lord,"  answered  the 
daring  philosopher,  "but  those  of  absolute  reve- 
rence, as  to  the  king  of  all  gods?" 

"Now,  now!"  said  Zeus,  chaffing  as  usual.  "I 
know  their  fickleness  very  well,  for  all  your  dis- 
simulation. There  was  a  time  when  I  was  their 
prophet,  their  healer,  and  their  all, 

And  Zeus  filled  every  street  and  gathering-place. 

In  those  days  Dodona  and  Pisa  were  glorious 
and  far-famed,  and  I  could  not  get  a  view  for  the 
clouds  of  sacrificial  steam.  But  now  Apollo 
has  set  up  his  altar  at  Delphi,  Asclepius  his  temple 
of  health  at  Pergamum,  Bendis  and  Anubis  and 
Artemis  their  shrines  in  Thrace,  Egypt,  Ephesus; 
and  to  these  all  run;  theirs  the  festal  gatherings 
and  the  hecatombs.  As  for  me,  I  am  super- 
annuated; they  think  themselves  very  generous 
if  they  offer  me  a  victim  at  Olympia  every  four 
years.  My  altars  are  chilly  as  Plato's  laws  or 
Chrysippus's  syllogisms!" 

Thus  did  this  oddly  assorted  couple,  aviator 
and  Olympian,  gossip,  until  they  reached  the  spot 
where  Zeus  was  to  sit  and  listen  to  the  prayers. 
There  was  a  row  of  openings  with  lids  like  well- 

185 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

covers,  and  a  chair  of  gold  by  each.  Zeus  took 
his  seat  at  the  first,  lifted  off  the  lid,  and  inclined 
his  ear.  From  every  quarter  of  earth  were  coming 
the  most  various  and  contradictory  petitions;  for 
Icaromenippus,  too,  bent  down  his  head  and  lis- 
tened, so  that  he  was  able  later  to  make  this 
authentic  report. 

"0  Zeus,"  prayed  one,  "that  I  might  be  king!" 

"O  Zeus,  that  my  onions  and  garlic  might 
thrive!" 

"Ye  gods,  a  speedy  death  to  my  father!" 

Or  again: 

"Would  that  I  might  succeed  to  my  wife's 
property!" 

"Grant  that  my  plot  against  my  brother  be 
not  detected!" 

"Let  me  win  my  suit!" 

"Give  me  a  garland  at  the  Olympic  games!" 

Of  those  at  sea,  one  prayed  for  a  north,  an- 
other for  a  south  wind;  the  farmer  asked  for 
rain,  the  fuller  for  sun.  Zeus  listened,  and  gave 
each  prayer  careful  consideration,  but  without 
promising  to  grant  them  all;  righteous  prayers 
he  allowed  to  come  up  through  the  hole,  received 
them  and  laid  them  down  at  his  right,  while  he 
sent  the  unholy  ones  packing  with  a  down- 
ward puff  of  breath,  that  heaven  might  not 
be  defiled  by  their  entrance.  In  one  case  the 
aviator  saw  that  he  was  puzzled;  two  men  pray- 
ing for  opposite  things  and  promising  the  same 
sacrifice,  he  could  not  tell  which  of  them  to  favor, 
and  experienced  a  truly  Platonic  suspense,  show- 

186 


LUCIAN'S  AVIATION  STORY 

ing  a  reserve  and  equilibrium  worthy  of  Pyrrho, 
father  of  all  skeptics. 

When  the  prayers  of  mortal  men  had  thus  been 
dealt  with,  Zeus  went  on  to  the  next  of  the  golden 
chairs  and  attended  to  oaths  and  those  who  were 
making  them.  These  done  with,  he  proceeded  to 
the  next  chair  to  deal  with  omens,  prophetic  voices, 
and  auguries.  Then  came  the  lid  of  sacrifice, 
which  he  duly  lifted;  and  the  smoke,  coming  up 
through  the  aperture,  communicated  to  him  the 
name  of  the  sacrificer.  After  that,  says  Icaro- 
menippus,  he  was  free  to  give  his  wind  and  weather 
orders:  rain  for  Scythia  to-day,  a  thunder-storm 
for  Lydia,  snow  for  Greece.  The  north  wind  he 
instructed  to  blow  in  Lydia,  the  west  to  raise 
up  a  storm  in  the  Adriatic,  the  south  to  take  a 
rest;  a  thousand  bushels  of  hail  were  measured 
out,  to  be  distributed  over  Cappadocia. 

As  the  day's  work  of  the  father  of  gods  and  men 
was  now  pretty  well  completed,  and  as  it  was 
just  dinner-time,  he  led  Icaromenippus  to  the 
banquet-hall.  Hermes  received  the  new-comer, 
and  assigned  him  a  seat  next  to  a  group  of  gods 
whose  alien  origin  left  them  in  rather  a  doubtful 
position — Pan,  he  of  the  melodious  pipes,  the 
whirling  Corybantes,  Attis  and  Sabazius.  Icaro- 
menippus was  supplied  with  bread  by  Demeter, 
with  wine  by  Bacchus,  meat  by  Heracles,  myrtle- 
blossoms  by  Aphrodite,  and  fish  by  Poseidon. 
But  he  also  got  a  sly  taste  of  ambrosia,  the  undying 
food  of  the  gods,  and  nectar,  their  beverage;  good- 
natured  Ganymede,  the  boy  whom  Zeus's  eagle 

187 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

had  carried  to  heaven  to  be  cup-bearer  of  the  im- 
mortals, as  often  as  he  saw  that  Zeus's  attention 
was  directed  elsewhere,  brought  round  the  nectar 
and  gave  the  visitor  a  cupful.  During  the  dinner 
Apollo  harped,  Silenus  danced,  and  the  Muses 
sang  selections  of  Greek  verse. 

What  befell  thereafter,  and  how  great  Zeus 
settled  the  matter  of  the  maiden  Moon's  plaint 
against  the  two  inquisitive  philosophers,  were 
long  to  tell,  though  excellent  in  the  telling.  Suffice 
it  that  Icaromenippus,  shorn  of  his  wings  lest  he 
might  rashly  come  again,  was  carried  safely  back 
to  earth  by  Hermes,  who  lifted  him  cautiously  by 
the  right  ear  and  bore  him  through  the  ether, 
depositing  him  safe  in  Athens.  Whereupon  he 
hurried  forth  to  warn  the  philosophers  of  the 
impending  thunderbolt  which  Zeus  had  in  pickle 
for  them.  Whether  they  heeded  him  and  re- 
formed or  heeded  not  and  met  their  glittering 
doom,  deponent  sayeth  not.  And  so  ends  the 
tale. 


XIV 

A   SCOFFER   ON   MOUNT   OLYMPUS 

WITH  what  joy  we  would  have  studied  our 
Greek  in  bygone  days  if  "  flogging  Orbilius " 
had  but  given  us  Lucian's  Dialogues  of  the  Gods 
instead  of  prosily  boastful  Xenophon  or  long- 
winded  Demosthenes !  Irreverent  he  is,  no  doubt, 
this  Scoffer  on  Mount  Olympus,  but  how  de- 
liciously  funny!  Caustic  at  times,  too,  as,  for 
example,  in  the  scene  where  Hermes  and  Hephaestus 
are  sent  to  crucify  Prometheus  on  the  cliff  of 
Caucasus  for  stealing  divine  fire  and  creating 
men. 

"This,"  says  Hermes,  "is  the  Caucasus,  to 
which  it  is  our  painful  duty  to  nail  our  com- 
panion. We  have  now  to  select  a  suitable  crag, 
free  from  snow,  on  which  the  chains  will  have  a 
good  hold  and  where  the  prisoner  will  hang  in  all 
publicity." 

"True,"  replies  Hephaestus.  "It  will  not  do 
to  fix  him  too  low  down,  or  these  men  he  has 
created  might  come  to  their  maker's  assistance; 
nor  at  the  top,  where  he  would  be  invisible  from 
the  earth.  What  do  you  say  to  a  middle  course? 
Let  him  hang  over  this  precipice,  with  his  arms 
stretched  across  from  crag  to  crag." 

189 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

"The  very  thing,"  rejoins  Hermes.  " Steep 
rocks,  slightly  overhanging,  inaccessible  on  every 
side;  no  foothold  but  a  mere  ledge,  with  scarcely 
room  for  the  tips  of  one's  toes;  altogether  a  sweet 
spot  for  a  crucifixion.  Now,  Prometheus,  come 
and  be  nailed  up;  there  is  no  time  to  lose." 

Prometheus  here  raises  his  voice  in  protestation : 
"Nay,  hear  me,  Hephaestus!  Hermes!  I  suffer 
injustice:  have  compassion  on  my  woes!" 

"In  other  words,"  breaks  in  Hermes,  "disobey 
orders,  and  promptly  be  gibbeted  in  your  stead! 
Do  you  suppose  there  is  no  room  on  the  Caucasus 
to  peg  out  a  couple  of  us?  Come,  your  right 
hand!  Clamp  it  down,  Hephaestus,  and  in  with 
the  nails;  bring  down  the  hammer  with  a  will. 
Now  the  left;  make  sure  work  of  that  too.  So! 
The  eagle  will  shortly  be  here,  to  trim  your 
liver!" 

Having  nailed  up  the  great  benefactor,  how- 
ever, they  agree  to  listen  to  his  plea  on  his  own 
behalf,  while  they  are  waiting  for  Zeus's  eagle  to 
arrive.  Prometheus  pleads.  He  declares  that 
the  craft  he  was  guilty  of  in  deceiving  Zeus  was 
but  an  after-dinner  jest,  while  the  making  of 
men  was  sheer  benefit.  For,  while  there  were  no 
mortals,  the  immortals  only  half  enjoyed  their 
royal  state,  having  no  wretches  to  compare  with 
their  own  happy  lot ;  nor  had  they  any  one  to  build 
them  temples  or  altars  or  to  till  the  rude,  in- 
hospitable earth. 

"But,"  he  continues,  "you  will  complain  that 
we  have  so  much  trouble  looking  after  them.  At 

190 


A  SCOFFER  ON  MOUNT  OLYMPUS 

that  rate,  a  shepherd  ought  to  object  to  the 
possession  of  a  flock.  Besides,  a  certain  show  of 
occupation  is  rather  gratifying  than  otherwise; 
the  responsibility  is  not  unwelcome — it  helps  to 
pass  the  time.  What  should  we  do  if  we  had  not 
mankind  to  think  of?  There  would  be  nothing 
to  live  for;  we  should  sit  about  drinking  nectar 
and  gorging  ourselves  with  ambrosia.  But  what 
fairly  takes  my  breath  away  is  your  assurance 
in  finding  fault  with  my  women  in  particular, 
when  all  the  time  you  are  in  love  with  them: 
our  bulls  and  satyrs  and  swans  are  never  tired  of 
making  descents  upon  the  earth;  women,  they 
find,  are  good  enough  to  be  made  mothers  of  gods! 
And  now,  with  your  permission,  I  will  approach 
the  subject  of  that  stolen  fire,  of  which  we  hear 
so  much.  I  have  a  question  to  ask,  which  I  beg 
you  will  answer  frankly.  Has  there  been  one  spark 
less  fire  in  heaven  since  men  shared  it  with  us? 
Of  course  not.  It  is  the  nature  of  fire  that  it 
does  not  become  less  by  being  imparted  to  others. 
A  fire  is  not  put  out  by  kindling  another  from  it. 
No,  this  is  sheer  envy:  you  cannot  bear  that  men 
should  have  a  share  of  this  necessary,  though  you 
have  suffered  no  harm  thereby.  For  shame! 
Gods  should  be  beneficent,  ' givers  of  good'; 
they  should  be  above  all  envy.  Had  I  taken  away 
fire  altogether  and  left  not  a  spark  behind,  it 
would  have  been  no  great  loss.  You  have  no  use 
for  it.  You  are  never  cold;  you  need  no  artificial 
light;  nor  is  ambrosia  improved  by  boiling. " 

Equally  humorous,   and  with  less  of  a  sting 
191 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

in  it,  is  the  talk  between  Zeus  and  Eros,  or,  as  the 
Latins  would  have  said,  Jove  and  Cupid.  Zeus 
is  getting  ready  to  administer  a  well-earned  spank- 
ing to  the  little  love-god  with  the  quiver,  and 
Eros  pleads: 

"  You  might  let  me  off,  Zeus!  I  suppose  it  was 
rather  too  bad  of  me;  but  there  —  I  am  but  a 
child,  a  wayward  child. " 

Zeus  replies,  with  indignation:  "A  child,  and 
born  before  lapetus  was  ever  thought  of?  You 
bad  old  man!  Just  because  you  have  no  beard 
and  no  white  hairs,  are  you  going  to  pass  yourself 
off  for  a  child?" 

"Well,"  retorts  the  little  love-god,  "and  what 
such  mighty  harm  has  the  old  man  ever  done  you, 
that  you  should  talk  of  chains?" 

"Ask  your  own  guilty  conscience,"  replies 
mighty  Zeus.  "The  pranks  you  have  played 
me!  Satyr,  bull,  swan,  eagle,  shower  of  gold — 
I  have  been  everything  in  my  time;  and  I  have  you 
to  thank  for  it.  You  never  by  any  chance  make 
the  women  in  love  with  me;  no  one  is  ever  smitten 
with  my  charms,  that  I  have  noticed.  No,  there 
must  be  magic  in  it  always;  I  must  be  kept  well 
out  of  sight.  They  like  the  bull  or  the  swan  well 
enough;  but  once  let  them  set  eyes  on  me,  and 
they  are  frightened  out  of  their  lives." 

"Of  course,"  says  Eros.  "They  are  but  mor- 
tals; the  sight  of  Zeus  is  too  much  for  them.  Now, 
shall  I  tell  you  the  way  to  win  hearts?  Keep 
that  aegis  of  yours  quiet,  and  leave  your  thunder- 
bolt at  home;  make  yourself  as  smart  as  you  can; 

192 


A  SCOFFER  ON  MOUNT  OLYMPUS 

curl  your  hair  and  tie  it  up  with  a  bit  of  ribbon; 
get  a  purple  cloak  and  gold  -  bespangled  shoes, 
and  march  forth  to  the  music  of  flute  and  drum: 
and  see  if  you  don't  get  a  finer  following  than 
Dionysus,  for  all  his  maenads. " 

"Pooh!"  says  the  father  of  gods  and  men. 
"I'll  win  no  hearts  on  such  terms." 

"Oh,  in  that  case,"  pertly  replies  Eros,  "don't 
fall  in  love.  Nothing  could  be  simpler." 

"I  dare  say,"  answers  mighty  Zeus;  "but  I 
like  being  in  love,  only  I  don't  like  all  this  fuss. 
Now  mind;  if  I  let  you  off,  it  is  on  this  under- 
standing." 

So,  unfortunately  for  fallen  humanity,  Cupid 
was  neither  muzzled  nor  chained  up;  he  was  not 
even  well  spanked. 

Very  amusing  is  the  conversation  about  new- 
born Hermes,  whom  the  Romans  called  Mercury, 
which  takes  place  between  Hephaestus  and 
Apollo. 

"Have  you  seen  Maia's  baby,  Apollo?"  asks 
Hephaestus.  "Such  a  pretty  little  thing,  with  a 
smile  for  everybody;  you  can  see  it  is  going  to  be 
a  treasure." 

"That  baby  a  treasure?"  retorts  Apollo. 
"Well,  in  mischief,  lapetus  is  young  beside  it." 

"Why,"  asks  Hephaestus,  "what  harm  can  it 
do,  only  just  born?" 

"Ask  Poseidon,"  replies  Apollo.  "It  stole  his 
trident.  Ask  Ares;  he  was  surprised  to  find  his 
sword  gone  out  of  the  scabbard.  Not  to  mention 
myself,  disarmed  of  bow  and  arrows." 

193 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

" Never!  That  infant?  He  has  hardly  found 
his  legs  yet;  he  is  not  out  of  his  baby  linen." 

"Ah,  you  will  find  out,  Hephaestus,  if  he  gets 
within  reach  of  you." 

"He  has  been,"  answers  over-confident  Hephaes- 
tus. 

"Well,"  queries  Apollo,  "all  your  tools  safe? 
None  missing?" 

"Of  course  not." 

"I  advise  you  to  make  sure." 

"Zeus!"  cries  Hephaestus.  "Where  are  my 
pincers?" 

"Ah,"  replies  Apollo,  with  a  golden  smile, 
"you  will  find  them  among  the  baby  linen!" 

And  so  it  was.  Which  is  why,  among  other 
reasons,  Hermes,  or  Mercury,  was  made  the  god 
of  thieves  and  other  light-fingered  gentry. 

Would  that  I  had  space  to  reproduce  the 
sovereign  comedy  of  Lucian's  "  Dialogue  of  the 
Judgment  of  Paris,"  when  the  three  lovely  god- 
desses came  to  the  Phrygian  shepherd  to  decide 
which  of  them  was  entitled  to  the  beauty  prize  of 
the  golden  apple.  Lucian  boldly  suggests  that 
the  decision  in  favor  of  Aphrodite  was  a  matter, 
not  of  superior  beauty,  but  of  superior  graft; 
Athene,  afterward  patroness  .  of  Athenes  and  the 
Acropolis,  a  kind  of  Grecian  Walktire,  promises 
that,  if  the  prize  goes  to  her,  she  will  make  Paris 
a  mighty  warrior  and  conqueror;  Hera  promises 
him  the  lordship  of  Asia;  but  never-dying,  artful 
Aphrodite,  as  poetess  Sappho  calls  her,  speaks 
thus: 

194 


A  SCOFFER  ON  MOUNT  OLYMPUS 

"Here  I  am;  take  your  time,  and  examine  care- 
fully; let  nothing  escape  your  vigilance.  And 
I  have  something  else  to  say  to  you,  handsome 
Paris.  Yes,  you  handsome  boy,  I  have  long  had 
an  eye  on  you;  I  think  you  must  be  the  handsomest 
young  fellow  in  all  Phrygia.  But  it  is  such  a 
pity  that  you  don't  leave  those  rocks  and  crags 
and  live  in  a  town:  you  will  lose  all  your  beauty 
in  this  desert.  What  have  you  to  do  with  moun- 
tains? What  satisfaction  can  your  beauty  give 
to  a  lot  of  cows?  You  ought  to  have  been  mar- 
ried long  ago;  not  to  any  of  these  dowdy  women 
hereabouts,  but  to  some  Greek  girl;  an  Argive, 
perhaps,  or  a  Corinthian,  or  a  Spartan;  Helen, 
now,  is  a  Spartan,  and  such  a  pretty  girl — quite 
as  pretty  as  I  am — and  so  susceptible!  Why,  if 
she  once  caught  sight  of  you,  she  would  give  up 
everything,  I  am  sure,  to  go  with  you;  and  a  most 
devoted  wife  she  would  be.  But  you  have  heard 
of  Helen,  of  course? — such  a  lithe,  graceful  figure; 
and  only  think,  she  is  so  much  admired  that 
there  was  a  war  because  Theseus  ran  away  with 
her;  and  she  was  a  mere  child  then,—  '  and  so 
forth  and  so  on  till  Paris  was  beguiled  and 
fell,  as  what  man  would  not,  if  the  goddess  of 
beauty  called  him  handsome?  So  Aphrodite 
got  the  golden  apple  of  discord,  Paris  got  Argive 
Helen,  and  the  avenging  Greeks  burned  Troy 
about  old  Priam's  ears. 

As  funny  as  the  Dialogues  of  the  Gods,  and  even 
more  caustic,  are  the  Dialogues  of  the  Dead,  which 
are  the  model  for  all  later  comic  treatment  of  hell. 

195 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

The  best  of  these,  perhaps,  is  that  in  which 
Hermes  and  Charon  and  various  shades  take 
part,  Charon  beginning  thus: 

"I'll  tell  you  how  things  stand.  Our  craft, 
as  you  see,  is  small  and  leaky  and  three  parts 
rotten;  a  single  lurch,  and  she  will  capsize  without 
more  ado.  And  here  are  all  you  passengers, 
each  with  his  luggage.  If  you  come  on  board 
like  that,  I  am  afraid  you  may  have  cause  to 
repent  it,  especially  those  who  have  not  learned 
to  swim." 

"I'll  tell  you,"  optimistically  replies  the  boat- 
man of  the  dead.  "They  must  leave  all  this 
nonsense  behind  them  on  shore  and  come  aboard 
in  their  skins.  As  it  is,  there  will  be  no  room  to 
spare.  And  in  future,  Hermes,  mind  you,  admit 
no  one  till  he  has  cleared  himself  of  encumbrances, 
as  I  say.  Stand  by  the  gangway,  and  keep  an  eye 
on  them,  and  make  them  strip  before  you  let  them 
pass." 

"Very  well,"  agrees  Hermes.  "Well,  Number 
One,  who  are  you?" 

"Menippus,  -the  Cynic.  Here  are  my  wallet 
and  staff;  overboard  with  them.  I  had  the  sense 
not  to  bring  my  cloak." 

"Pass  on,  Menippus;  you're  a  good  fellow;  you 
shall  have  the  seat  of  honor,  up  by  the  pilot,  where 
you  can  see  every  one.  Here  is  a  handsome  per- 
son; who  is  he?" 

"Charmoleos  of  Megara,  the  irresistible,  whose 
kiss  was  worth  a  thousand  pounds,"  answers 
Charon. 

196 


A  SCOFFER  ON  MOUNT  OLYMPUS 

"That  beauty  must  come  off/'  Hermes  insists— 
"lips,  kisses,  all;  the  flowing  locks,  the  blushing 
cheeks,  the  skin  entire.  That's  right.  Now 
we're  in  better  trim.  You  may  pass  on.  And 
who  is  the  stunning  gentleman  in  the  purple  and 
diadem?" 

"I  am  Lampichus,  tyrant  of  Gela,"  replies  the 
haughty  shade. 

"And  what  is  all  this  splendor  doing  here, 
Lampichus?"  asks  Hermes. 

"How!"  angrily  retorts  Lampichus.  "Would 
you  have  a  tyrant  come  hither  stripped?" 

"A  tyrant!"  sarcastically  answers  Hermes. 
"That  would  be  too  much  to  expect.  But 
with  a  spook,  we  must  insist.  Off  with  these 
things!" 

"There,  then,"  resignedly  replies  the  dead 
tyrant;  "away  goes  my  wealth!" 

"Pomp  must  go,  too,"  answers  Hermes,  re- 
morseless; "and  pride;  we  shall  be  over-freighted 
else." 

"At  least  let  me  keep  my  diadem  and  robes," 
begs  the  tyrant. 

"No,  no;  off  they  come!" 

"Well?"  asks  Lampichus.  "That  is  all,  as  you 
see  for  yourself." 

"There  is  something  more  yet,"  sternly  answers 
Hermes — "cruelty,  folly,  insolence,  hatred." 

"There,  then,"  answers  the  unhappy  tyrant; 
"now  I  am  stripped  bare  ..." 

This,  indeed,  is  satire  rather  than  comedy; 
and  satire  in  which  we  can  see  foreshadowed  scenes 

197 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

like  the  grave-diggers  in  Hamlet   or   the  door- 
keeper in  Macbeth. 

But,  in  general,  Lucian  mocks  most  good- 
naturedly  at  the  gods  of  great  Olympus,  turning 
them  into  fun  and  genial  ridicule.  Yet  all  this 
has  a  graver  side,  for  we  can  well  see  that  this 
graceful,  witty  undermining  of  the  old  religion 
appreciably  helped  to  clear  the  way  for  the  new, 
which  was  even  then  struggling  for  a  foothold 
in  the  Roman  world. 


XV 


THE  JESTS   OF  CICERO'S  COUNTRYMEN 

IN  the  days  when  we  were  plodding  through  the 
four  conjugations  we  hardly  thought  of  the 
Romans  as  a  race  of  humorists;  there  was  nothing 
irresistibly  funny  about  an  ablative  absolute. 
And  we  were  not  far  from  the  truth;  for  Julius 
Caesar  is  a  dry  dog,  even  in  the  Irish  translation: 
"All  Gaul  is  quartered  into  three  halves."  There 
is  some  humor,  perhaps,  in  that  famous  despatch 
sent  from  Paul's  city  of  Tarsus  and  communi- 
cating the  victory  over  the  King  of  Pontus:  "I 
came,  saw,  overcame."  But  as  likely  as  not  its 
brevity  was  mere  thriftiness  in  words,  not  wit. 
In  Vergil,  too,  there  is  hardly  a  smile.  Would  it 
not  have  lightened  our  days  if  that  tedious 
and  priggish  person,  the  pious  ^Eneas,  had  been 
represented  by  the  Mantuan  with  a  sense  of 
humor?  Tradition  had  it  that  ^Eneas  was  the 
son  of  goddess  Venus  and  Anchises  of  Troy,  but 
it  is  hard  to  see  where  he  takes  after  his  winsome 
and  frivolous  mamma. 

But  in  Horace  there  is  excellent  fooling.  Take 
that  gay  satire  which  tells  how  he  was  going  by 
chance  on  the  Sacred  Way,  tremendously  intent 

14  199 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

on  some  trifle  or  other,  when  a  bore  overtook  him, 
and,  running  up  to  him,  wrung  him  warmly  by  the 
hand. 

"How  do  you  do,  dearest  friend?"  said  the  bore. 

" Passably  well/7  replied  Horace,  who  barely 
knew  his  tormentor  by  sight — "passably  well,  as 
the  times  go;  and  I  wish  you  everything  you  can 
desire." 

When  the  bore  still  followed  him,  Horace  asked 
him  whether  he  wanted  anything. 

"But  you  know  me  well,"  answered  the  bore, 
evidently  hurt;  "am  I  not  a  man  of  learning?" 

"In  that  case,"  said  Horace,  "I  tender  you  my 
respect." 

Then  he  tried  to  escape,  now  walking  rapidly, 
now  lagging,  now  pretending  to  stop  and  talk  to 
his  boy.  But  the  bore  held  on,  till  Horace  felt 
the  sweat  running  down  to  his  ankles,  while  the 
bore  droned  on,  praising  the  town  and  the  streets. 
Finally  the  bore  became  suspicious. 

"I  think,"  he  said,  "you  are  trying  to  get 
away?  But  you  will  not  escape  me.  I  shall  stick 
by  you.  Whither  are  you  going  now?" 

Horace,  with  desperate  politeness,  said  that  his 
worthy  friend  must  not  think  of  putting  himself 
out  so;  that  he  had  a  long  walk  before  him;  was 
going,  in  fact,  across  the  Tiber  to  visit  a  sick 
friend,  one  who  dwelt  by  Caesar's  gardens,  and 
whom  his  worthy  friend  did  not  even  know  by 
name.  Horace  does  not  say  so,  but  we  suspect 
that  he  invented  this  sick  friend  beyond  the  Tiber 

on  the  spur  of  the  moment. 

200 


THE  JESTS  OF  CICERO'S  COUNTRYMEN 

But  the  bore  stood  his  ground.  "I  have 
nothing  particular  to  do  this  morning, "  he  said, 
"and  I  am  a  good  walker.  I  will  go  with  you." 

Horace  gave  up  in  despair.  He  humorously 
describes  himself  hanging  down  his  ears  like  an 
over-laden  donkey  and  plodding  gloomily  on  his 
perfectly  useless  journey,  while  the  bore  began 
again,  praising  himself  and  saying  what  a  de- 
sirable friend  he  would  be,  better  than  Viscus  or 
Varius,  for  he  could  write  more  verses  than  they, 
and  quicker  too,  and  he  could  dance,  too,  and  sing 
in  a  way  to  make  Hermogenes  envious. 

Meanwhile  Horace  had  gathered  himself  to- 
gether for  a  final  break  for  liberty.  Interrupting 
his  wearisome  friend,  he  asked: 

"Have  you  a  mother  or  any  relations  who  are 
interested  in  your  welfare?" 

"No,"  replied  the  bore;  "Ihave  buried  them  all." 

"Lucky  for  them!"  answered  the  desperate 
Horace.  "But  I  still  remain.  Despatch  me,  too, 
for  the  fatal  hour  has  arrived.  A  Sabine  witch 
told  my  fortune  when  I  was  a  boy,  drawing  the 
fateful  words  from  her  urn;  'This  child,'  she 
said,  'must  die  neither  by  poison  nor  by  the 
sword;  nor  will  pleurisy  or  gout  remove  him. 
He  will  fall  victim  to  a  bore.  Therefore,  if  he  is 
wise,  let  him  avoid  talkative  people  when  he  comes 
to  man's  estate.' ' 

What  the  bore  said  in  reply,  and  how  the  poor 
poet  finally  got  rid  of  him,  he  who  would  know 
may  read,  for  the  book  is  extant  and  writ  in  choice 
Italian. 

201 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

There  is  another  little  bit  of  Horace  that  has 
an  equal  charm:  an  ode  addressed  to  the  fair  and 
too  accessible  Lady  Lydia.  It  would  seem  that 
she  and  Horace  had  had  their  romance;  but 
time's  snows  had  cooled  them,  and  both  had 
drifted  away  after  other  loves.  The  ode  begins 
with  a  pensive  reflection  which  Horace  addresses 
to  fair,  fickle  Lydia:  So  long,  he  tells  her,  as  she 
loved  him,  and  no  other  youth  more  favored  might 
clasp  his  arms  around  her  snowy  neck,  he  lived 
happier  than  the  King  of  Persia.  To  which  fair 
Lydia  replies  that  none  was  happier  than  she 
until  Horace  began  to  make  love  to  the  enchanting 
Chloe.  Horace  breaks  forth  in  praises  of  his  new 
love;  Chloe,  he  says,  draws  his  heart  by  her  lovely 
music  and  winsome  voice,  so  that  he  would  fain 
die  for  her,  if  thereby  she  might  live.  Lydia, 
not  to  be  outdone,  sings  the  praises  of  her  new 
lover:  Calais  and  Lydia,  she  says,  burn  with 
mutual  fire;  for  Calais  she  would  die,  not  once, 
but  twice,  if  hard  Fate  would  turn  aside  from 
him.  Then,  slyly  sentimental,  Horace  wonders 
aloud  what  would  happen  if  he  and  Lydia  fell  in 
love  with  each  other  again  and  were  once  more 
united  under  the  yoke  of  Venus.  What  if  golden- 
haired  Chloe  were  turned  down,  and  the  door  of 
his  house  once  more  opened  to  slighted  Lydia? 
To  which  Lydia,  not  less  sly  nor  less  sentimental, 
makes  reply:  Though  Horace  is  light  as  a  cork 
and  fitful  as  the  gusty  Adriatic,  yet  for  his 
sake  she  would  even  dismiss  the  star-like  Ca- 
lais: for  with  Horace,  her  only  true  love,  she 

202 


THE  JESTS  OF  CICERO'S  COUNTRYMEN 

would  fain  live;  for  him  she  would  gladly 
die. 

Full  of  genuine  humor,  too,  is  Horace's  account 
of  the  millionaire's  banquet,  at  which,  in  every 
element  of  magnificence,  Horace  manages  to  find 
some  touch  of  vulgarity.  Thus,  when  it  was 
found  that  the  boar's  head  had  been  kept  too  long, 
because  the  host  had  bought  it  a  bargain  earlier, 
he  suggests  that  it  has  some  vague  excellence  be- 
cause it  was  killed  while  the  south  wind  blew, 
having,  therefore,  a  breath  of  Africa  about  it. 
The  servants  who  waited  at  the  table  were  clothed 
in  purple,  and  one  of  the  guests,  Nomentanus, 
was  invited  in  order  that  he  might  point  out  any 
excellent  thing  in  danger  of  passing  unobserved. 
The  tapestry  suspended  under  the  ceiling  gave 
way,  and  came  down  amid  a  cloud  of  dust,  whereat 
Nomentanus  the  flatterer  bewailed,  while  Varius 
smothered  a  laugh  in  his  napkin.  And  so  on, 
throughout  the  whole  portentous  feast. 

Juvenal  followed  in  the  footsteps  of  Horace, 
writing  satires  on  the  life  about  him  with  a  keen 
and  bitter  wit.  "What  can  I  do  at  Rome?" 
he  asks,  in  his  famous  third  satire.  "I  cannot  lie; 
I  cannot  praise  a  bad  book  and  beg  a  copy;  I 
cannot  cast  horoscopes;  I  cannot  promise  a 
father's  death  to  his  heir."  Again  he  says, 
"Dire  poverty  has  no  sharper  sting  than  this, 
that  it  makes  a  man  ridiculous."  But  in  another 
satire  he  paints  the  contrasted  picture  of  the 
traveler  with  empty  pockets  laughing  in  the 
bandit's  face.  There  is  a  contemporary  touch  in 

203 


WHY  THE   WORLD  LAUGHS 

his  saying,  "He  who  wishes  to  get  rich,  wishes 
to  get  rich  quick";  and  he  says  elsewhere  that 
lost  riches  are  lamented  with  true  tears.  Juvenal 
has  a  sharp  word-picture  of  the  Greeks,  whom  he 
seems  to  have  respected  as  little  as  did  Shakespeare, 
for  he  calls  them  "a  race  pf  comedians.  If  you 
smile,  your  Greek  friend  shakes  with  laughter.  If 
he  sees  a  tear  in  your  eye,  he  weeps,  though  he  is 
indifferent.  If  you  ask  for  a  little  fire  in  winter, 
he  pulls  his  cloak  about  him.  If  you  complain 
of  the  heat,  he  sweats." 

Yet  Roman  literature  is  tremendously  indebted 
to  the  Greeks  from  its  very  beginning,  and 
especially  in  the  matter  of  humor.  For  both 
Plautus  and  Terence,  who  bear  between  them  the 
burden  of  Latin  comedy,  are  wholly  under  Greek 
influence,  though  they  write  in  more  rugged  Latin. 
Their  people  are  Greek,  their  names  are  Greek, 
their  plots  are  Greek  and,  for  the  most  part, 
laid  in  Greece.  But  it  is  a  Greece  of  degenerate 
days,  and,  with  much  genuine  humor,  there  is 
much  that  is  harsh  and  crude  in  their  comedies. 
Plautus  has  the  more  ingenious  plots,  and  some 
witty  sayings,  such  as  this,  "Never  in  any  age 
was  there  such  a  wonder  found  as  a  taciturn 
woman";  or  this,  "Man  is  a  wolf  to  man."  With 
which  one  may  contrast  the  German,  "Ein 
Mensch  ist  des  andern  Teufel."  Plautus  has  the 
sayings,  "The  flame  is  near  the  smoke";  "Man 
proposes  and  God  disposes";  "A  friend  in  need  is  a 
friend  indeed";  and  the  suggestive  image,  "to 
whiten  ivory  with  ink."  And  from  Terence  one 

204 


THE  JESTS  OF  CICERO'S  COUNTRYMEN 

may  quote  the  immortal  saw,  "  Lovers'  quarrels 
are  a  renewal  of  love."  Terence  also  makes  one 
of  his  characters  shrewdly  say,  "As  usual,  it  hap- 
pens that  my  ills  reach  your  ears  before  your  joys 
reach  mine";  and  another  says,  "Thou  knowest 
the  way  of  women;  while  they  are  drinking  a  year 
passes."  To  Terence '  also  must  be  accredited 
this,  "An  old  saying,  and  a  true,  'Of  all  mankind, 
each  loves  himself  the  best.'?;  He  also  says,  "A 
word  to  the  wise  is  enough";  "Where  there  is 
life,  there  is  hope";  and  uses  the  simile,  "to  harp 
on  the  same  string."  Terence,  too,  tells  us  that 
Venus  grows  cold  without  banquets  and  wine, 
which  is  the  old  way  of  saying  that,  "When  pov- 
erty comes  in  at  the  door,  love  goes  out  by  the 
window." 

So  did  these  two  old  comedians  write  in  Latin, 
while  they  thought  in  Greek.  For  Latin  was 
always  something  too  stolid  and  stiff  for  jesting; 
and  the  days  of  Rome's  decline  have  begun 
before  we  find  a  return  to  genuine  humor.  I  might 
venture  to  suggest  that  something  of  the  same 
kind  is  true  of  the  waning  of  Puritanism  in  this 
country,  and  that  the  humorist  and  the  malefactor 
of  great  wealth  appeared  about  the  same  time,  were 
it  not  that  I  fear  to  trespass  on  Signor  Ferrero's 
preserves. 

So  it  happens,  very  naturally,  that  when  the 
later  Romans  allow  themselves  to  jest  they  very 
often  jest  in  Greek,  as  Shakespeare  so  acutely 
remarked  of  Cicero.  And  among  these  Greek- 
jesting  Latins  there  is  none  so  amusing  as  Lucillius, 

205 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

who  is,  indeed,  one  of  the  wittiest  of  mankind. 
Of  his  life  not  very  much  seems  to  be  known, 
though,  happily,  a  great  many  of  his  jests  are 
still  among  the  living.  Rather  mocking  the  great 
epic  poets,  Lucillius  says,  "  'Of  the  Muses  of 
Helicon  let  us  sing,'  thus  wrote  Hesiod,  while  he 
tended  his  sheep.  '  Goddess,  sing  the  anger  of 
Achilles/  and  'Sing,  Muse,  the  man/  thus  Homer 
began  his  poems.  I  too  must  write  a  prelude. 
What  shall  I  write  to  begin  my  second  book? 
'Muses  of  Olympus,  ye  daughters  of  Zeus,  I  should 
have  been  lost,  had  not  Nero,  a  descendant  of 
Caesar,  put  up  the  cash."'  So  Lucillius,  the  jester, 
was  a  debtor  to  Nero,  the  sentimental  firelight 
fiddler  of  Rome,  the  same  who  crucified  Peter  and 
beheaded  Paul. 

Now  to  give  a  taste  of  Lucillius' s  quality. 
"Slanderers  say,  O  Nicylla,"  he  writes  to  a 
fashionable  though  faded  beauty,  "that  you  dye 
your  hair  black.  It  is  false.  It  was  black 
when  you  bought  it!" 

To  another  lady  he  writes,  "  Demosthenis, 
your  mirror  is  false;  if  it  were  not,  you  would  not 
be  willing  to  look  into  it." 

Of  a  certain  professional  athlete  Lucillius  said, 
"Eutychides  was  a  slow  runner  on  the  course, 
but  if  you  invited  him  to  dinner  he  sprinted." 

Lucillius  seems  to  have  had  a  particular  aversion 
to  a  certain  poor  painter,  Menestratus  by  name. 
He  is  never  tired  of  girding  at  him.  "You 
painted  Deucalion,  of  the  flood,  and  Phsethon,  who 
was  scorched  by  the  sun.  Now  you  ask  their 

206 


I  SHOULD  HAVE  BEEN  LOST,   HAD  NOT  NERO,   A  DESCENDANT  OF  CAESAR,   PUT 

UP   THE    CASH" 


THE  JESTS  OF  CICERO'S  COUNTRYMEN 

value.  Well,  Phsethon  deserves  fire,  and  Deucal- 
ion water." 

Hardly  less  sharp  is  this, "  Asclepiades,  the  miser, 
once  saw  a  mouse  in  his  house,  and  said,  'What 
art  thou  doing,  dearest  mouse,  in  my  house  T 
And  the  mouse,  sweetly  smiling,  replied,  Tear 
not,  friend.  We  seek  from  you,  not  food,  but 
lodging.'  " 

Here  is  an  epigram  even  more  personal,  "As 
you  have  such  a  face,  Olympicus,  go  not  near  a 
fountain  nor  any  clear  water;  for,  like  Narcissus, 
you  will  die  if  you  see  your  reflection  in  the  water." 

Here  is  another  pitiless  little  character  sketch 
in  the  same  vein:  " Hermocrates,  the  money- 
lover,  as  he  lay. dying,  put  his  own  name  in  his 
will  as  heir.  Then  he  began  to  reckon  up  how 
much  it  would  cost  him,  if  he  at  length  recovered 
and  had  to  reward  the  physician,  and  if  he  died 
at  once.  He  found  that,  in  the  latter  case,  he 
would  save  a  drachma.  'It  is  cheaper  to  die!' 
he  said,  and  straightway  gave  up  the  ghost." 

But  Lucillius  is  not  always  so  friendly  to  the 
physicians.  "Not  the  flood  of  Deucalion,"  he 
tells  us,  "nor  Phsethon,  who,  driving  the  horses 
of  the  sun  too  near,  burned  up  the  earth,  have 
destroyed  so  many  as  Potamo,  the  poet,  and 
Hermogenes,  the  surgeon.  So  that  for  each  age 
there  has  been  its  calamity:  Deucalion,  Phsethon, 
Potamo,  Hermogenes." 

Lucillius  thus  taunts  a  cowardly  warrior:  "If 
an  army  is  to  be  raised,  to  fight  against  grass- 
hoppers, or  dog-flies,  or  the  cavalry  of  fleas  or 

207 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

frogs,  then,  Caius,  thou  art  in  danger  of  being 
enrolled;  but  not  if  an  army  of  brave  men  is 
needed.  The  Romans  are  not  going  to  fight 
against  cranes." 

Lucillius,  who  has  already  peppered  the  doctors, 
now  pays  his  respects  to  his  lawyer,  who  seems 
to  have  dragged  all  the  great  names  of  antiquity 
into  his  pleading  in  a  petty  theft.  "I  lost  a  little 
pig/'  says  Lucillius,  "and  an  ox  and  a  she  goat, 
on  account  of  which  you,  Menecles,  received  a 
lawyer's  fee.  But  neither  has  anything  happened 
in  common  to  me  and  Othryades,  nor  do  I  lead 
away  any  as  thieves  from  Thermopylae;  but  we 
have  a  case  against  Eutychides;  so  what  has 
Xerxes  to  do  here,  and  what  the  Lacedaemonians? 
But  keep  my  case  in  mind,  or  I  will  cry  out, 
1  Menecles  says  some  things;  the  little  pigs  say 
other  things!'  ' 

Once  more,  a  slap  at  the  doctors;  this  time  a 
certain  Doctor  Dionysius,  who,  being  invited  to  a 
banquet,  found  one  of  his  patients  there,  whom 
he  was  treating  for  dyspepsia,  and  promptly 
devoured  all  the  good  things  to  keep  his  patient 
out  of  danger. 

We  have  recently  had  an  epidemic  of  dancers 
who  have  presented  to  us,  by  their  art,  all  kinds 
of  wonderful  things.  It  would  seem  that  in  this, 
too,  to  corroborate  Signor  Ferrero,  modern  Amer- 
ica but  repeats  ancient  Rome.  And  if  we  feel 
inclined  to  satirize  them,  we  have  a  model  ready 
to  hand  in  Lucillius,  who  wrote  of  a  dancer  of  his 
day:  " Although  dancing  entirely  according  to 

208 


THE  JESTS  OF  CICERO'S  COUNTRYMEN 

history,  you  have,  by  neglecting  one  thing  of  the 
greatest  moment,  given  me  great  pain.  For,  in 
dancing  the  part  of  Niobe,  you  stood  like  a  rock; 
and  again,  while  you  were  Capaneus,  you  fell  down 
on  a  sudden;  but  on  the  part  of  Canace,  you  acted 
unnaturally,  for,  though  there  was  a  sword  beside 
you,  you  went  off  the  stage  alive.  This  was  quite 
contrary  to  the  story.  For  Canace  had  at  least 
killed  herself." 

And  here  is  a  bitter  enough  word-picture  of  a 
bad  orator:  " Pluto,  god  of  the  underworld,  will 
not  receive  Marcus,  the  orator,  when  he  dies,  for 
he  will  say  that  Cerberus,  the  dog  of  Hades,  is 
enough  for  him;  or  perhaps  he  will  say  to  Marcus, 
'  Go,  make  orations  before  the  chief est  sinners  like 
Ixion  and  Meliot,  the  lyric  poet,  and  Tityus. 
For  I  have  no  evil  greater  than  you  to  punish  them 
with,  until  Rufus,  the  grammarian,  arrives. ": 

It  would  be  hard  to  find  in  all  literature  any- 
thing more  bitterly  witty  than  that. 

In  somewhat  the  same  vein  is  Lucian,  though 
perhaps  he  is  a  shade  more  humane.  Of  his  own 
books,  he  says:  "I,  Lucian,  wrote  these,  ac- 
quainted with  things  old  and  foolish;  for  foolish, 
indeed,  are  the  things  thought  wise  by  mankind. 
There  is  no  wit  in  man  to  judge  between  them. 
What  fills  you  with  wonder  is  for  others  some- 
thing to  laugh  at." 

It  is  easy  enough,  indeed,  to  laugh  with  Lucian. 
What,  for  instance,  could  be  more  apt  than  this: 
"Antiochus  once  saw  the  purse  of  Lysimachus. 
Lysimachus  never  saw  it  again"? 

209 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

Again  he  says,  somewhat  in  the  spirit  of  old 
Horace:  "That  poet  is  truly  best  who  gives  his 
audience  a  supper.  But  if  he  merely  reads  his 
poems  and  sends  them  home  hungry,  may  he 
turn  his  poetic  frenzy  against  himself!" 

Very  witty,  too,  is  this  little  anecdote  which 
Lucian  tells,  "  Amongst  all  who  were  drunk, 
Acindunus  remained  sober;  therefore  it  was 
thought  that  he  got  drunk  when  he  was  alone." 

Here  is  an  epigram  of  Lucian's  which  is  as  good 
as  anything  in  literature.  Strictly  speaking,  per- 
haps it  is  a  conundrum:  "0  goddess,  who  hatest 
the  poor  and  art  the  sole  subduer  of  wealth,  who 
knowest  rich  living  at  all  times,  who  delightest 
to  be  supported  on  strange  feet  and  wearest 
slippers  of  felt  and  carest  much  for  ointments! 
Thee  too  a  garland  delights,  and  the  liquor  of 
Ausonian  Bacchus!  But  these  things  are  never 
within  the  reach  of  the  poor.  Therefore  thou 
fliest  from  the  threshold  of  poverty  and  comest 
with  delight  to  the  feet  of  the  rich!" 

The  name  of  the  goddess  to  which  these  praises 
are  addressed  is  Podagra,  which,  being  interpreted, 
is  the  Gout.  For  it  is  true  that  gout  forsakes  the 
threshold  of  the  poor  and  comes  gladly  to  the  feet 
of  the  rich.  We  saw  how  Lucillius  played  on  the 
first  lines  of  the  Iliad  and  the  Odyssey.  Here  is 
something  similar,  and  perhaps  even  wittier,  from 
Lucian.  It  is  once  more  a  dig  at  the  doctors. 

"A  certain  physician,"  says  Lucian,  "sent  his 
son  to  me  to  learn  Greek  grammar.  He  first 
learned,  'Sing,  0  Muse,  the  wrath  of  Achilles  I' 

210 


THE  JESTS  OF  CICERO'S  COUNTRYMEN 

and  then,  'He  caused  ten  thousand  sorrows  to 
the  Greeks';  but  after  I  had  taught  him,  'And  he 
sent  untimely  many  souls  to  Hades/  his  father 
took  him  away,  saying  to  me,  'Many  thanks, 
my  friend,  but  my  child  can  learn  that  at  home. 
For  I  myself  send  many  souls  untimely  to  Hades, 
so  I  need  no  tutor  for  that!' 

But  perhaps  the  funniest  thing  Lucian  ever 
said  is  this:  "A  fool  was  bitten  by  many  fleas. 
He  put  out  the  light  and  said,  'Now  you  no 
longer  see  me!'  " 


XVI 

HOW  LUCIUS  MADE  AN  ASS  OF  HIMSELF 

FIRST,  metaphorically,  then  most  literally.  As 
to  the  first  mishap,  Lucius,  a  likely  young  man 
born  in  the  Roman  colony  in  Africa,  had  traveled 
through  classic  Greece  to  Thessaly,  famed,  as 
you  must  know,  for  witches.  And,  armed  with  a 
letter  of  introduction,  he  had,  on  coming  to  a 
certain  Thessalian  city,  presented  himself  at  the 
home  of  one  Milo,  a  considerable  citizen,  yet  held 
in  contempt  by  his  fellow  Thessalians  because  he 
was  a  notable  usurer  and  a  miser,  to  boot.  The 
grim,  inhospitable  spirit  of  Pamphile,  Milo's 
unattractive  spouse,  was,  however,  made  up  for, 
in  the  mind  of  our  young  friend  Lucius,  by  the 
gentle  charms  of  her  young  handmaiden  Photis; 
and  here  it  was  that  Lucius  came  to  grief. 

But  first  let  me  relate  another  adventure  that 
befell  him,  in  that  same  city  of  Thessaly,  an  ad- 
venture at  once  tragical  and  ludicrous.  As  he 
was  walking  in  the  market-place  he  observed  a 
fair  and  noble  lady  attended  by  many  servants 
and  accompanied  by  her  worthy  and  distinguished 
husband.  This  good  lady,  it  seems,  was  an  old 

friend  of  his  mother's,  a  kinswoman,  and,  presently 

212 


HOW   LUCIUS   MADE   AN   ASS   OF   HIMSELF 

recognizing  young  Lucius,  bade  him  come  with 
her  to  her  house.  There,  in  the  garden  before 
the  dwelling,  he  saw  many  beautiful  things,  statues 
of  fair  Parian  marble,  winged  victories  tiptoe  upon 
globes  surmounting  pillars;  rockwork  adorned 
with  trailing  vines,  and  many  lovely  things  be- 
sides. And  inside  the  fair  dame's  mansion  he 
was  delighted  with  choice  banquets  and  costly 
viands,  which  brought  great  solace  to  his  heart. 

Now  it  happened  that,  during  the  time  of  his 
sojourn  there,  the  people  of  that  city  held  their 
annual  festival;  one,  indeed,  that  every  city 
would  do  well  to  imitate,  for  it  was  the  festival 
of  the  gods  of  laughter.  To  the  celebration  of 
which,  with  due  rites  and  ceremonies,  Lucius  all 
unwillingly  contributed.  For,  as  he  was  wending 
homeward  his 'unsteady  way  from  a  too  heady 
banquet  at  his  kindly  kinswoman's  mansion,  at- 
tended only  by  a  single  body-servant,  it  befell 
that  his  lamp  was  blown  out;  and,  the  Thessalian 
streets  being  in  those  days  unlighted,  he  stumbled 
along  in  the  dark,  striking  his  feet  against  stones; 
and,  being  in  great  fear  of  robbers,  of  whom  there 
were  many  in  the  city  and  more  in  the  hills,  he 
held  his  dagger  in  his  hand,  now  and  then  brandish- 
ing it,  and  so  approached  the  house  of  Milo,  the 
usurer. 

His  heart  stood  still,  as,  crowded  against  the 
door  of  the  house,  he  saw  three  figures,  evidently 
the  forms  of  robbers  bent  on  making  an  entry; 
and,  crying  out  at  them,  he  ran  bravely  toward 
them,  dagger  in  hand.  So  valiantly,  indeed,  did 

213 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

he  smite  that  soon  three  lifeless  bodies  lay  in  the 
dust  before  the  house;  and,  the  door  being  opened 
to  him  by  the  tender  and  gentle  handmaiden 
Photis,  he  was  soon  wrapped  in  happy  dreams. 

Judge,  then,  his  dismay  when,  rosy  -  fingered 
Aurora  having  scarce  left  the  chamber  of  Tithonus, 
to  tinge  with  light  the  eastern  sky,  he  heard  a 
fierce  knocking  at  the  door,  seconded  with  stern 
and  official-sounding  shouts,  and  presently  the 
prefect's  men  burst  in,  and,  having  soundly 
pummeled  him  in  token  of  his  arrest,  hailed  him 
off  bound  to  the  theater,  there  to  stand  trial  for 
murder  before  the  eyes  of  all.  Terrified,  trembling 
in  every  limb,  Lucius  was  dragged  to  the  arena, 
and,  to  his  horror,  saw  that  the  benches  were  well 
filled  with  a  holiday  throng  gathered  to  make 
a  mock  of  his  sufferings  and  death.  And,  to  add 
to  this,  there,  on  a  broad  bier,  lay  three  forms  out- 
lined under  a  mantle  of  black,  which  unhappy 
Lucius  divined  to  be  the  bodies  of  his  three  victims 
of  the  night  before.  And  no  sooner  had  the 
lictors  of  the  prefect  dragged  him  into  a  prominent 
place  before  the  assembled  multitude  than  the 
public  prosecutor  appeared  and  began  a  harangue 
as  eloquent  as  it  was  merciless,  calling  on  the  judges 
to  strike  at  this  foreigner  who  had  taken  the  lives 
of  three  young  and  noble  citizens. 

Then  Lucius,  feeling,  as  it  were,  that  the  hand 
of  justice  was  upraised  to  strike  him,  addressed 
the  assembly  on  his  own  behalf.  He  declared  that 
he  had  seen  the  three  men,  palpably  robbers, 
making  a  concerted  and  fierce  attack  on  the  house 

214 


HOW  LUCIUS   MADE   AN   ASS   OF  HIMSELF 

of  Milo,  his  host;  that  he  had  ordered  them  to  be 
gone;  and  that  they  had  refused,  barbarous,  blood- 
thirsty villains  that  they  were,  but,  on  the  contrary, 
had  made  bold  resistance. 

" Their  leader,"  he  continued,  pathetically, 
"made  at  me  with  all  his  strength,  caught  me  by 
the  hair  with  both  hands,  bent  my  body  back- 
ward, and  would  have  smashed  my  skull  with  a 
stone,  which  he  called  to  his  companions  to  give 
him,  had  I  not  had  the  good-fortune  to  make  a  sure 
thrust  at  him  and  overthrow  him.  Presently, 
by  a  well-aimed  blow  at  another,  piercing  through 
his  shoulder-blade,  I  killed  him  clinging  to  my 
legs  and  biting  my  feet;  and  finally,  as  the  third 
was  all  abroad  and  rushing  wildly  upon  me,  I 
ran  him  through  the  chest.  And  now,  having 
labored  for  the  welfare  of  the  public,  having 
vindicated  the  cause  of  peace,  and  having  pro- 
tected the  house  of  my  host,  I  should  have  imagined 
myself  deserving  of  public  approbation  rather 
than  punishment.  Nor  am  I  able  to  comprehend 
why,  because  I  was  excited  by  a  justifiable  feeling 
of  vengeance  against  three  terrible  villains,  I  am 
thus  summoned  to  this  place  at  all  to  clear  myself 
of  the  accusation.  For  nobody  can  prove  I  had 
a  motive  to  commit  the  crime  I  stand  charged 
with,  either  through  the  desire  of  booty  or  from 
animosity  to  the  deceased  robbers,  none  of  whose 
faces  did  I  ever  see  before  this  encounter." 

But  the  more  eloquently  Lucius  pleaded,  the 
more  uncontrollably  did  the  heartless  Thessalians 
laugh,  till  a  new  diversion  against  him  was  un- 

15  215 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

expectedly  created.  Two  women  robed  in  funeral 
black,  and  one  of  them  carrying  an  infant  in  her 
arms,  came  forward.  The  elder,  weeping,  declared 
that  she  was  the  mother  of  the  three  youths  thus 
heartlessly  murdered  as  they  were  returning 
home  through  the  streets;  the  other,  saying  she 
was  the  widow  of  one  of  them,  held  up  her  infant 
to  the  people  and,  her  face  streaming  with  tears, 
begged  them  to  avenge  the  loss  of  her  husband, 
the  father  of  her  child. 

Then  the  judge,  declaring  that  Lucius  must  be 
put  to  the  torture,  to  disclose  the  motive  of  his 
most  heinous  crime  and  the  names  of  his  fellow- 
criminals,  ordered  the  rack  to  be  brought,  with 
pincers  and  cruel  machines  for  eliciting  confession. 

While  Lucius  was  terrified  and  horror-struck  at 
these  formidable  appearances  and  his  fears  were 
doubled  at  the  sad  idea  of  leaving  the  world  with  a 
mutilated  body,  the  elder  of  the  two  women,  who 
all  the  time  had  been  disturbing  the  proceedings 
of  the  court  with  her  loud  wailings,  thus  ad- 
dressed the  spectators: 

"Most  worthy  citizens,"  said  she,  "I  pray  you 
permit  the  dead  bodies  of  my  wretched  sons  to  be 
uncovered,  in  order  that  the  contemplation  of  their 
youth  and  beauty  may  instigate  a  just  feeling  of 
indignation  and  stir  up  the  people's  rage  in  due 
proportion  to  the  crime,  before  you  nail  to  the 
cross  that  villain,  their  murderer." 

The  spectators  assented  to  the  proposal  of  the 
old  woman  by  acclamation,  and  the  magistrate 
accordingly  ordered  the  dead  bodies  that  lay  on 

216 


HOW   LUCIUS   MADE   AN   ASS   OF   HIMSELF 

the  bier  to  be  uncovered  and  the  coverings 
to  be  removed  by  Lucius  himself,  with  his  own 
hands.  In  obedience  to  the  commands,  the 
lictors,  without  more  ado,  compelled  him  to  com- 
ply. Unwilling  to  revive,  as  it  were,  his  crime  of 
the  day  before  by  a  fresh  display,  he  resisted  and 
struggled  a  good  deal,  till  at  last  they  dragged 
from  his  side  by  force  the  hand  to  be  used  for  his 
destruction.  But  when  that  hand,  against  his 
will  overcome  by  stern  necessity  and  yielded  re- 
luctantly, was  extended  over  the  corpses  and 
withdrew  the  pall  that  concealed  them,  what  a 
wonderful  sight  did  ill-starred  Lucius  behold! 
For  the  corpses  of  the  three  murdered  men  were 
nothing  but  three  inflated  wine -skins  pierced 
with  the  wounds  he  had  inflicted  in  that  terrible 
battle  of  the  night  before.  The  audience  roared 
again  with  laughter,  and  at  last  Lucius  recognized 
that  he  had  been  made  a  sacrifice,  albeit  in- 
voluntary, to  the  god  of  laughter  on  his  festal 
day. 

Well  had  it  been  for  Lucius  if  he  had  straight- 
way departed  from  that  hilarious  city,  turning  his 
back  forever  on  its  gates.  But  he  was  drawn 
once  more  to  the  house  of  Milo,  not  so  much  by 
the  bonds  of  hospitality  as  by  his  fatal  weakness 
for  Photis,  the  pretty,  pink-armed  handmaiden. 
Photis,  indeed,  while  she  was  cooking  dainties 
for  him  on  the  stove,  was  very  bewitching;  yet, 
not  content  with  this,  she  began  presently  to  tell 
him  of  other  witchery,  and  Lucius  listened  avid, 

never  dreaming  that  he  was  destined  once  more 

217 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

to  make  an  ass  of  himself,  this  time  in  woeful 
reality. 

For  Photis,  as  the  terrifying  shades  of  evening 
fell  about  them,  drew  nearer  to  him,  and,  with 
eyes  big  with  fear,  related  to  him  that  her  mistress, 
Pamphile,  was  the  most  skilful  of  Thessalian 
witches;  that  she  could  darken  the  stars  and  put  a 
mist  about  the  sun;  and,  worst  of  all,  that  she  could 
take  on  her  strange  forms  of  beasts  or  birds  to 
work  her  wicked  will.  And  nay,  that  tender  and 
gentle  handmaiden  Photis  assured  young  Lucius 
that  that  very  night,  that  very  hour,  her  ominous 
mistress  Pamphile  would  doff  humanity  and 
indue  the  plumage  of  a  bird,  that  she  might  fly 
forth  from  grim  Milo's  house  and  join  a  waiting 
lover  in  the  hills. 

The  eyes  of  young  Lucius  were  big  with  fear, 
big  as  Thessalian  saucers,  when,  duly  posted  by 
sweet  Photis  at  a  crevice  in  the  wall,  he  saw 
Pamphile  enter  on  her  necromantic  rite.  And, 
since  the  wings  of  a  dove  would  have  ill  befitted 
such  a  one,  he  should  have  been  the  less  surprised 
when,  shaking  from  her  the  habiliments  of  woman- 
hood, she  took  from  a  coffer  a  small  box  of  oint- 
ment, one  among  many,  and  began  to  rub  herself 
therewith  from  head  to  foot.  Presently  she  was 
overtaken  with  tremblings  and  quiverings;  and 
there  came  forth  on  her  diminished  form  the 
members  and  plumage,  not  of  a  dove,  but  of  an 
owl,  the  very  dress  of  stealth  and  piracy  for  such 
a  one  as  she.  And,  in  a  final  wriggle  having  com- 
pleted her  metamorphosis,  she  beat  her  wings 

218 


HOW   LUCIUS   MADE   AN  ASS  OF  HIMSELF 

upon  the  air,  and,  straightway  rising,  fluttered 
forth,  noiseless  and  menacing,  from  the  open 
window. 

Lucius  turned  to  gentle  Photis,  who  had  seen 
all  that  he  had  seen,  and  not  for  the  first  time,  yet 
who  was  horror-struck  at  the  gruesome  spectacle, 
and,  such  is  the  insatiable  folly  of  youth,  his  one 
desire,  instantly  expressed,  was  to  go  and  do  the 
like.  So,  with  such  blandishments  as  pass  cur- 
rent among  the  young,  he  beguiled  sweet  Photis 
to  enter  the  chamber  of  her  dread  mistress  and 
thence  to  purloin  for  him  the  needed  ointment, 
so  that  he,  too,  on  feathered  pinions  might  fly 
forth  into  the  night  seeking  adventures. 

Whether  because  her  mind  was  confused  and 
fluttered  by  reason  of  his  blandishments  or  of 
malice  prepense,  for  such  is  oft  the  feminine 
heart,  Photis,  entering  the  magical  chamber,  seems 
to  have  suffered  some  confusion  in  her  choice;  for, 
when  she  returned  to  youthful  Lucius  bearing  the 
box  of  ointment,  and  he,  too,  doffing  human  cover- 
ings, began  to  anoint  himself,  lo  and  behold,  a 
terrible  misfortune!  For  there  came  forth  upon 
him  no  feathers  of  swift-gliding  owl  nor  of  any 
bird,  but,  instead,  coarse  hair  of  grayish  brown; 
no  wings  appeared,  but  rather  forelegs  with  small, 
hard  hoofs;  and  where  there  should  have  been  the 
tufted  horn-feathers  of  the  owl  there  were  tufts, 
indeed,  but  steadily  elongated,  till  they  were  as 
large  as  a  man's  hand;  and  where  should  have 
been  the  tail-feathers  of  an  owl  there  appeared 
a  tail,  indeed,  yet  the  tail  of  an  ass. 

219 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

Whether  this  dire  result  was  brought  about 
by  Photis,  through  treacherous  intent,  cannot 
surely  be  proven,  for  man  has  often  suffered  like 
metamorphosis  at  the  hands  of  a  maid;  but  sweet 
Photis,  for  the  love  she  bore  young  Lucius  and 
for  the  blandishments  that  had  passed  between 
them,  did  hasten  to  make  such  amends  as  might 
be,  and  whispered  into  one  long  and  bristled  ear 
that,  when  he  wished  once  more  to  take  on  human 
likeness,  the  remedy  was  simple;  he  need  only 
make  a  diet,  not  of  accustomed  thistles,  but  of 
roses,  and  hey,  presto!  the  change  would  be 
accomplished. 

While  she  was  in  the  act  of  caressing  his  soft 
and  velvety  muzzle,  shouts  and  the  beating  of 
doors  resounded  without,  and,  perhaps  incited 
thereto  by  what  had  passed  that  morning  in  the 
theater,  in  burst  a  band  of  veritable  robbers  in 
search  of  the  spoil  of  Milo,  the  usurer.  Photis 
vanished,  but  Lucius,  the  ass,  remained,  only  too 
conveniently  for  the  robbers,  for  they  presently 
loaded  him  with  the  plunder  of  his  host's  house 
and  drove  him  forth  with  kicks  and  blows,  seeking 
to  make  eloquent  protest  in  correctest  Latinity, 
yet  getting  no  further  than  " hee-haw!" 

That  was,  indeed,  for  him  the  beginning  of 
painful  trials  and  sad,  illuminating  experiences 
and  pathetic  failures.  For,  mindful  of  the  secret 
that  fair  Photis  had  whispered  into  his  asinine 
ear,  he  sought  everywhere  for  a  mouthful  of  roses 
and  could  never  take  kindly  to  thistles  or  barley 

straw.    Once,  while  the  robbers  were  on  their  way 

220 


HOW   LUCIUS   MADE   AN   ASS   OF   HIMSELF 

back  to  their  cave,  he  came  almost  within  touch 
of  liberation;  for  the  bandits  drew  up  for  rest 
and  incidental  plunder  at  the  cottage  of  a  farmer 
who  in  his  garden  had  not  only  cabbages,  but  roses. 
Lucius,  for  whom  anything  resembling  the  food 
of  his  recent  humanity  was  irresistible,  went 
avidly  toward  the  cabbages,  intending  first  to  ap- 
pease imperative  hunger  and  then  to  betake  him 
to  the  rose-tree  and  renew  his  manly  form.  But 
he  hesitated  and  shrank  back,  constrained  by 
two  reasons;  first  fear,  because,  while  the  robbers 
might  spare,  though  they  belabored  a  four-legged 
ass,  they  would  assuredly  fall  unmercifully  upon  a 
sudden-appearing  biped;  then  bashfulness, because, 
while  sweet  Photis  had  promised  that  the  roses 
would  restore  his  form,  she  had  said  nothing  at  all 
concerning  clothes,  and  Lucius  dreaded  to  find 
himself  there,  stark  and  unclad  in  broad  sun- 
light. 

The  robbers  took  him  to  their  cave,  where, 
waited  on  by  a  horribly  hilarious  old  hag,  they 
banqueted  on  rich  viands  and  counted  their 
plunder.  Presently  they  were  rejoined  by  another 
section  of  the  band,  who  haled  to  the  cavern  a 
fair  princess  in  bonds,  whom  they  were  holding 
for  ransom,  having,  most  inhumanly,  carried  her 
off  from  her  very  nuptials,,  from  the  expectant 
arms  of  her  young  bridegroom.  Here  Lucius, 
although,  or  perhaps,  because  he  was  an  ass,  sought 
romantic  glory,  and,  the  robbers  being  gone  upon 
a  new  foray,  burst  his  leathern  bridle,  kicked  the 

old  hag  into  insensibility,   induced  the  captive 

221 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

princess  to  mount  his  gray  back,  and  made  off  down 
the  road  for  liberty. 

Lucius,  being  truthful  even  though  an  ass,  fails 
not  to  record  that,  while  they  thus  romantically 
proceeded  in  a  donkey's  gallop  down  the  roadway, 
he  often  turned  his  tender  muzzle,  and,  under 
pretext  of  nozzling  his  own  gray  ribs,  furtively 
kissed  the  maiden's  pretty  feet.  So  they  pro- 
ceeded, happily  enough,  till  they  came  to  the  high- 
road and  to  a  place  where  two  ways  met.  There 
discord  arose  between  them,  for  the  maiden, 
naturally  enough,  wished  to  go  to  the  right, 
toward  her  home  and  the  arms  of  her  bridegroom, 
while  Lucius,  though  now  an  ass,  having  overheard 
the  robbers  say  that  they  were  going  that  way, 
dreaded  their  return  and  pulled  violently  in  the 
other  direction.  The  maiden's  pink  heels  were 
unavailing  to  deflect  him,  nor  were  his  best  efforts 
effectual  to  give  her  warning,  for  presently  the 
robbers  came  homeward,  and,  with  dire  threats 
of  punishment,  bore  both  captives  back  to  dur- 
ance, or,  rather,  forced  the  one  to  bear  the  other. 

Later,  both  escaped;  and  Lucius  had  many 
adventures,  dire  or  droll,  in  search  of  a  breakfast 
of  roses,  which,  at  last,  he  did  attain  at  a  certain 
festival  of  goddess  Isis,  at  the  fair  city  of  Cen- 
chrse,  six  miles  from  Corinth.  Nay,  the  goddess 
herself  appeared  almost  graciously  to  her  asinine 
worshiper,  and  not  only  promised  him  deliver- 
ance, but  made  the  way  easy  for  him,  even  by  a 
dream  directing  her  priest  to  hold  out  to  the 

imprisoned  Lucius  a  garland  of  red  roses,  which 

222 


HOW  LUCIUS  MADE  AN  ASS  OF  HIMSELF 

straightway  worked  his  release.  Another  priest 
handed  him  a  linen  tunic  so  swiftly  that  the 
multitude  scarce  discerned  the  marvelous  trans- 
migration. 

Such  is  the  tale  Apuleius  tells,  and  I  think  it  is 
not  so  much  a  jest  as  an  allegory  of  what  befalls 
many,  instigated  thereto  by  such  as  Photis,  the 
handmaiden,  until  such  time  as  they  find  release 
through  Isis,  lady  of  wisdom.  Be  this  as  it  may, 
such  is  the  famed  tale  known  to  antiquity  as  "The 
Golden  Ass." 


XVII 

BOCCACCIO   AND   HIS  KIN 

HTHERE  are  many  amusing  things  in  Boccaccio, 
1  so  that  one  may  say  that  he  was  the  first  of 
modern  men  who  heartily  laughed.  Yet  I  find 
him  somewhat  difficult  to  quote.  The  truth  is, 
that  many  of  his  stories,  while  very  funny  in 
their  way,  have  something  of  a  smoking-room 
flavor;  they  are  as  broad  as  they  are  long,  very 
much  broader  even,  sometimes. 

But  here  is  one,  quite  presentable,  and,  in  its 
way,  funny  enough.  The  tale  is  told  by  Fiametta, 
who  was,  in  truth,  no  " little  flame,"  but  the  great 
flame  who  kindled  conflagration  in  Giovanni 
Boccaccio's  by  no  means  asbestos  heart.  He 
instructs  us  in  much  detail  concerning  their 
loves,  so  that  we  have  even  an  inventory  of 
caresses;  but  that  is  beside  the  point.  The  gold- 
tressed  lady  relates  that  there  was,  in  the  fair 
city  of  Florence,  a  youth  called  Michael  Scalza, 
who  was  the  merriest  and  most  agreeable  fellow 
in  the  world  and  had  still  the  rarest  stories  in 
hand,  wherefore  the  young  Florentines  were  ex- 
ceedingly glad  to  have  his  company  whenever  they 
made  a  pleasure  party  among  themselves.  It 

224 


BOCCACCIO   AND  HIS  KIN 

chanced  one  day,  he  being  with  certain  folk  at 
Monte  Ughi,  that  the  question  was  started  among 
them  of  which  was  the  best  and  noblest  family  of 
Florence.  Some  said  the  Uberti,  others  the 
Lamberti,  and  one  this  family,  and  another  that, 
according  as  it  occurred  to  his  mind;  which  Scalza 
hearing,  he  fell  a-laughing  and  said: 

"Go  to,  what  geese  you  are!  You  know  not 
what  you  say.  The  best  gentlemen  and  the  oldest, 
not  only  of  Florence,  but  of  all  the  world  or  the 
Maremma,  are  the  great  Hobo  family,  a  matter 
on  which  all  the  philosophers  and  every  one  who 
knows  them  agree!" 

When  the  young  men  who  had  looked  for 
quite  another  answer  heard  this,  they  jeered  at 
him  and  said,  "Thou  mockest  us,  as  if  we  knew 
not  the  Hoboes,  even  as  thou  dost." 

"By  the  Writ,"  answered  Scalza,  "I  mock  you 
not;  nay,  I  speak  the  truth,  and  if  there  be  any 
here  who  will  wage  a  supper  on  it,  to  be  given 
to  the  winner  and  half  a  dozen  companions  of  his 
choosing,  I  will  willingly  hold  the  wager;  and  I 
will  do  yet  more  for  you,  for  I  will  abide  by  the 
judgment  of  whomsoever  you  will." 

Said  one  of  them,  called  Neri  Mannini,  "I  am 
ready  to  try  to  win  the  supper." 

Whereupon,  having  agreed  together  to  take 
Piero  di  Fiorentino,  in  whose  house  they  were,  to 
judge,  they  betook  themselves  to  him,  followed 
by  all  the  rest,  who  looked  to  see  Scalza  lose  and 
to  make  merry  over  his  confusion;  and  they  re- 
counted to  Piero  all  that  had  passed. 

225 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

Piero,  who  was  a  discreet  young  man,  having 
first  heard  Neri's  argument,  turned  to  Scalza 
and  said  to  him,  "And  thou,  how  canst  thou  prove 
this  which  thou  affirmest?" 

"How,  sayest  thou?"  answered  Scalza.  "Nay, 
I  will  prove  it  by  such  reasoning  that  not  only 
thou,  but  my  opponent  also  will  acknowledge 
that  I  speak  the  truth!  You  know  that  the 
ancienter  men  are,  the  nobler  they  are;  and  so  it 
was  said  but  now  among  these.  Now  the  Hoboes 
are  more  ancient  than  any  one  else,  so  that  they 
are  nobler;  and  if  I  can  demonstrate  that  they  are 
the  most  ancient,  I  shall  undoubtedly  have  won 
my  wager.  You  must  know,  then,  that  the  Hoboes 
were  made  by  the  Almighty  Creator  in  the  days 
when  He  first  began  to  draw ;  but  the  rest  of  man- 
kind were  made  after  He  knew  how  to  draw. 
And  to  assure  yourselves  that  in  this  I  say  the 
truth,  do  but  consider  the  Hoboes  in  comparison 
with  other  folk.  Whereas  you  see  all  the  rest  of 
mankind  with  faces  well  composed  and  duly  pro- 
portioned, you  may  see  the  Hoboes,  this  one  with 
a  countenance  very  long  and  narrow,  and  that 
with  a  face  out  of  all  measure  broad;  one  has  too 
long  and  another  too  short  a  nose,  and  the  third 
has  a  chin  jutting  out  and  turned  upward,  and 
huge  jaw-bones  that  show,  as  though  they  were 
those  of  an  ass,  while  some  there  be  who  have  one 
eye  bigger  than  the  other,  and  yet  some  who  have 
one  eye  set  lower  than  the  other,  like  the  faces 
that  children  are  accustomed  to  make  when 
first  they  begin  to  learn  to  draw.  Wherefore,  as  I 

226 


BOCCACCIO  AND  HIS  KIN 

have  already  said,  it  is  abundantly  apparent  that 
the  Almighty  made  them  while  He  was  learning 
to  draw;  so  that  they  are  more  ancient,  and 
consequently  nobler,  than  the  rest  of  mankind. " 

At  this,  both  Piero,  who  was  the  judge,  and 
Neri,  who  had  wagered  the  supper,  and  all  the 
rest,  hearing  Scalza's  comical  argument  and 
bethinking  themselves  of  the  Hoboes,  fell  a-laugh- 
ing  and  affirmed  that  he  was  right,  for  that  the 
Hoboes  were  assuredly  the  noblest  and  most 
ancient  gentlemen  that  were  to  be  found,  not  in 
Florence  alone,  but  in  the  whole  world  and  the 
Maremma. 

So  much  for  the  Decameron.  Here  is  a  tale 
from  the  life  of  its  author.  It  seems,  says  Boccac- 
cio's biographer,  that  during  the  tune  he  was 
writing  it  he  found  himself  taken  by  a  very  beauti- 
ful woman,  a  widow,  who  pretended  to  encourage 
him,  perhaps  because  of  his  fame,  provoked  his 
advances,  allured  him  to  write  to  her,  and  then, 
laughing  at  this  middle-aged  and  obese  lover, 
gave  his  letters  to  her  young  favorite,  who  scat- 
tered them  about  Florence.  Boccaccio  had  al- 
ready been  hurt  by  the  criticisms  some  had 
offered  on  his  work.  This  deception  by  the  widow 
exasperated  him,  his  love  for  women  turned  to 
loathing,  and  he  now  composed  a  sort  of  invective 
against  them,  which  was  called  the  "Corbaccio," 
which  seems  to  mean  "  the  rap."  The  story  is  as 
follows:  A  lover  finds  himself  lost  in  the  forest 
of  love,  and  is  delivered  by  a  spirit.  The  lover  is 
Boccaccio;  the  spirit  is  the  husband  of  the  widow, 

227 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

who  has  returned  from  hell,  where  his  avarice 
and  complaisance  have  brought  him.  In  setting 
Boccaccio  in  the  right  way,  the  spirit  of  the  hus- 
band reveals  to  him  all  the  imperfections,  artifices, 
and  defects,  and  the  hidden  vices  and  weaknesses 
of  his  wife.  "Had  you  seen  her  first  thing  in  the 
morning  with  her  night-cap  on,"  and  so  forth, 
which  suggests  why  Boccaccio  is  hard  to  quote. 
But  the  jest  is  a  bitter  one,  rather  satire  than 
humor,  and  so  somewhat  wide  of  our  mark. 

In  one  of  the  stories  of  the  Decameron  Boccaccio 
introduces  Giotto,  the  painter,  who,  he  says, 
"had  so  excellent  a  genius  that  there  was  nothing 
of  all  which  Nature,  mother  and  mover  of  all 
things,  presents  unto  us  by  the  ceaseless  revolution 
of  the  heavens,  but  he  with  pencil  and  pen  and 
brush  depicted  it,  and  that  so  closely  that  not 
like,  nay,  but  rather  the  thing  itself  it  seemed, 
insomuch  that  men's  visual  sense  is  found  to  have 
been  oftentimes  deceived,  taking  for  real  that 
which  was  but  feigned.  Wherefore,  he,  having 
brought  back  to  the  light  this  art,  may  deservedly 
be  called  one  of  the  chief  glories  of  Florence." 

The  author  of  the  Decameron  was  also  the  warm 
life-long  friend  of  Petrarca  and  the  biographer  of 
Dante,  so  that  he  binds  together  the  great  men  of 
a  great  age.  One  of  the  contemporaries  of  Boc- 
caccio has  recorded  this  tale  of  Dante,  which 
is,  perhaps,  the  closest  approach  the  great  poet 
of  the  Divina  Commedia  ever  made  to  a  practical 
joke. 

One  day,  while  Dante  was  passing  the  Gate  of 

228 


BOCCACCIO  AND  HIS  KIN 

Saint  Peter  he  heard  a  blacksmith  beating  iron 
upon  the  anvil,  and  singing  some  of  Dante's 
verses  like  a  song,  jumbling  the  lines  together  and 
confusing  them,  so  that  it  seemed  to  Dante  he  was 
receiving  a  great  injury.  He  said  nothing,  but, 
going  into  the  blacksmith's  shop,  he  took  up  his 
hammer  and  pincers  and  scales  and  many  other 
things,  and  threw  them  out  into  the  road. 

The  blacksmith,  turning  around  upon  him, 
cried  out,  "What  the  deuce  are  you  doing?  Are 
you  mad?" 

"What  are  you  doing?"  said  Dante. 

"I  am  working  at  my  proper  business,"  said 
the  blacksmith,  "and  you  are  spoiling  my  work, 
throwing  it  out  into  the  road." 

Said  Dante,  "If  you  do  not  like  me  to  spoil  your 
things,  do  not  spoil  mine." 

"What  things  of  yours  am  I  spoiling?"  said  the 
man. 

And  Dante  replied,  "You  are  singing  something 
of  mine,  but  not  as  I  made  it.  I  have  no  other 
trade  but  this,  and  you  spoil  it  for  me." 

The  blacksmith,  too  proud  to  acknowledge  his 
fault,  but  not  knowing  how  to  reply,  gathered  up 
his  things  and  returned  to  his  work;  and  when  he 
sang  again,  sang  "Tristram  and  Launcelot,"  and 
let  Dante  alone. 

Which  is  at  least  mildly  funny.  So  much  for 
the  thirteen  hundreds  in  Italy.  In  the  early 
fifteen  hundreds  Vasari  was  born,  and  in  due 
time  began  to  write  his  stories  of  the  great  Italian 
artists,  who  are  still  Italy's  glory.  He  records 

229 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

some  humorous  things,  for  instance  this,  of 
Michael  Angelo.  A  certain  painter,  says  Vasari, 
had  a  picture  wherein  was  an  ox  which  looked 
better  than  the  rest.  Michael  Angelo  Buonarotti, 
being  asked  why  the  painter  had  made  it  more 
life-like  than  the  rest,  replied,  "  Every  painter 
succeeds  best  in  a  portrait  of  himself." 

Another  painter,  Vasari  continues,  had  exe- 
cuted a  historical  picture  in  which  every  figure 
was  copied  from  some  other  artist,  insomuch 
that  no  part  of  the  picture  was  his  own.  It  was 
shown  to  Michael  Angelo  Buonarotti,  who,  when 
he  had  seen  it,  was  asked  by  a  very  intimate 
friend  of  his  what  he  thought  of  it. 

He  replied,  "He  has  done  well,  but  at  the  Day 
of  Judgment,  when  all  bodies  will  resume  their 
own  limbs  again,  I  do  not  know  what  will  become 
of  that  historical  picture,  for  there  will  be  nothing 
left  of  it.'7 

Baldassarre  Castiglione,  a  generation  earlier, 
has  some  good  things,  such  as  this.  The  Bishop 
of  Corvia,  he  says,  in  order  to  find  out  the  inten- 
tions of  the  Pope,  one  day  said  to  him:  "Holy 
father,  it  is  commonly  reported  in  all  Rome,  and 
even  in  the  palace,  that  your  Holiness  is  about 
to  make  me  governor." 

The  Pope  replied,  "Never  mind  what  they  say: 
they  are  nothing  but  low-tongued  rascals." 

The  same  writer  records  that  a  certain  pleader, 
to  whom  his  adversary  said,  "What  art  thou 
barking  for?"  replied,  "Because  I  see  a  thief." 

Again,  he  says,  as  Duke  Frederic  of  Urbina 

230 


BOCCACCIO  AND  HIS  KIN 

was  one  day  talking  of  what  was  to  be  done  with  a 
large  quantity  of  earth  which  had  been  dug  up  in 
order  to  lay  the  foundation  of  his  palace,  an  abbot 
who  was  present  said: 

"My  lord,  I  have  been  thinking  where  it  should 
be  put,  and  I  have  a  good  idea:  order  a  great  ditch 
to  be  dug,  and  you  may  there  dispose  of  the  earth 
without  further  hindrance." 

The  duke  replied,  not  without  a  smile,  "What 
are  we  to  do  with  the  earth  which  will  be  dug  from 
this  new  ditch?" 

The  abbot  answered,  "Let  it  be  made  big 
enough  to  hold  both." 

And  thus,  although  the  duke  tried  to  show  him 
that  the  larger  the  ditch  the  more  earth  would  be 
dug  out  of  it,  he  could  not  understand  that  it  could 
not  be  made  large  enough  to  contain  both  heaps, 
but  only  replied,  "Make  it  so  much  the  larger." 

Here  is  a  little  fable,  somewhat  in  Lucian's 
vein.  Jove  having  one  day  drunk  more  nectar 
than  usual  and  being  in  a  pleasant  humor,  the 
fancy  took  him  to  make  some  present  to  mankind. 
And,  having  called  Momus,  the  god  of  laughter, 
he  gave  him  what  he  had  decided  upon,  packed  in 
a  portmanteau,  and  sent  him  down  to  the  earth. 

"Oh!"  cried  Momus,  when  he  arrived  in  a 
chariot,  to  the  human  race,  "Oh,  truly  blessed 
generation!  Behold  how  Jove,  liberal  of  his 
benefits  toward  you,  opens  his  generous  hand! 
Come,  hasten,  receive!  Never  complain  again 
that  he  has  made  you  short-sighted.  His  gift 
quite  compensates  you  for  this  defect." 

16  231 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

So  saying,  he  unfastened  the  portmanteau  and 
emptied  out  of  it  an  enormous  heap  of  pairs  of 
spectacles.  Behold,  then,  the  whole  of  mankind 
busy  picking  them  up;  every  man  has  his  pair — 
all  are  content,  and  thank  Jove  for  having  ac- 
quired so  excellent  an  aid  to  their  eyesight.  But 
the  spectacles  caused  them  to  see  things  under  a 
deceitful  appearance.  To  one  man  a  thing  seems 
blue,  while  another  sees  it  yellow,  one  thinks  it  is 
white,  and  another  black;  so  that  to  every  one 
it  appears  different. 

But  what  of  that?  Every  individual  was  de- 
lighted with  his  pair  and  quite  taken  up  with  it, 
and  insisted  on  its  being  the  best.  My  dear 
friends,  we  are  the  heirs  of  these  people,  and  the 
spectacles  have  come  to  us  as  our  heritage.  Some 
see  things  one  way,  and  some  another,  and  every 
one  thinks  he  is  right. 

Yet  another  tale  of  Dante,  to  end  the  record 
of  the  great  time.  The  author  of  the  Divina 
Commedia,  meditating  apart  one  day  in  the  church 
of  Santa  Maria  Novella,  was  accosted  by  a  bore, 
who  asked  him  many  foolish  questions.  After 
vainly  endeavoring  to  get  rid  of  him,  Dante  at 
last  said,  "  Before  I  reply  to  thee  do  thou  tell  me 
the  answer  to  a  certain  question/'  and  then 
asked  him,  "  Which  is  the  greatest  of  all  beasts  ?" 

The  gentleman  replied  that,  on  the  authority 
of  Pliny,  he  believed  it  to  be  the  elephant. 

Then  said  Dante,  "O  elephant,  leave  me  in 
peace!"  and,  so  saying,  he  turned  and  left  him. 


XVIII 


THE   MUSICAL  LAUGHTER   OF  ITALY 

A  FLORENTINE  writer  of  children's  stories 
is  responsible  for  this  little  tale. 

"Do  tell  me,  mamma,  what  is  the  difference 
between  l authentic  news7  and  ' various  news7?" 

"  'Authentic/  "  replies  his  mother,  "is  what 
really  happens,  and  '  various'  is  what  the  journal- 
ists make  up  to  fill  the  paper.  Be  very  careful 
to  tell  the  truth;  if  you  don't,  you  will  go  to 
purgatory  for  seventy  years,  and  in  this  world 
every  one  will  take  you  for  a  journalist!" 

An  industrious  gentleman,  to  whom  all  lovers 
of  Italian  humor  are  indebted,  has  made  a  collec- 
tion of  the  little  things  which  the  journalists  of  the 
land  of  Dante  invent  "to  fill  the  paper,"  and  from 
these  I  venture  to  cull  a  wreath  of  flowers. 

Take,  for  instance,  this  tale  of  a  fond  father, 
whose  little  son  was  begging  him  to  buy  him  a  tin 
trumpet. 

"No,  I  won't,"  cried  his  father;  "I  don't  want 
to  have  my  head  split  by  your  noise!" 

"Oh  no,  papa!  I  should  only  blow  it  when  you 
were  asleep!" 

A  customer  at  a  Neapolitan  restaurant,  osten- 

233 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

tatiously    sniffing    at    his    plate,    addressed    the 
waiter: 

"I  say,  waiter,  this  fish  isn't  fresh  I" 

"Oh  yes,  it  is,  sir!" 

"What?    I  assure  you  it  smells  high." 

The  waiter  replied  confidentially,  "No,  sir, 
you're  mistaken;  it's  that  other  gentleman's 
cutlet." 

./"At  a  Roman  cafe  some  one  asked,  "Excuse  me, 
sir;  does  the  Daily  appear  every  day?" 

The  grave  man  thus  interrogated  replied,  in  a 
solemn  and  professional  manner,  not  without  a 
sting  of  bitter  irony : 

"Of  course,  sir.  You  might  have  seen  that  by 
the  very  title  of  the  paper." 

"Then,  sir,  on  your  principle  the  Century 
should  only  appear  once  every  hundred  years." 

Said  Amico  to  Beluomo:  "The  intelligence  of 
animals  is  something  extraordinary.  For  example, 
my  dog,  Fido,  is  a  wonderfully  clever  fellow. 
When  I  am  staying  in  the  country  I  send  him  to 
the  nearest  village,  and  he  executes  all  the  com- 
missions I  give  him  better  than  any  servant." 

Said  Beluomo  in  reply:  "Well,  I  have  seen 
stranger  things  than  that  in  India.  I  knew  an 
old  elephant  to  whom  every  evening  they  used  to 
give  orders  for  the  next  day's  purchases;  and,  as  his 
memory  was  not  quite  what  it  used  to  be,  the  in- 
telligent animal  always  tied  a  knot  in  his  trunk, 
so  as  to  be  sure  not  to  forget." 

Gennaro,  of  Naples,  said  one  day  to  a  friend, 
"I  receive  an  immense  number  of  anonymous 

234 


THE  MUSICAL  LAUGHTER  OF  ITALY 

letters  which  are  quite  insulting;  I  despise  them 
too  much  to  let  it  vex  me.     When  /  lower  myself 
so  far  as  to  write  anonymous  letters,  I  always 
I  sign  them." 

^  /  Said  a  Venetian  recruit  to  his  corporal,  "If 
I  told  you  you  were  an  ass,  what  would  you  do, 
sir?" 

Said  the  corporal,  "I  should  put  you  under 
arrest." 

"And  if  I  only  thought  it?" 

"Then,  of  course,  I  could  do  nothing.  For 
thoughts  are  invisible,  and  cannot  be  brought  in 
evidence 

"Well,  I  am  thinking  it!" 

A  person  who  had  made  a  large  fortune  by  con- 
verting best  Virginia  peanuts  into  pure  olive-oil, 
in  giving  an  invitation  to  dinner  to  a  celebrated 
violinist,  who  had  just  given  a  concert  at  the 
house  of  a  banker,  said  to  him  with  intentional 
carelessness : 

"Oh,  by  the  by,  you  will  bring  your  violin, 
won't  you?" 

"Thank  you,"  replied  the  artist,  "but  my  violin 
never  dines  out." 

A  brave  captain,  at  the  manoeuvers  in  Tuscany, 
said,  "I  want  all  the  corporals  to  give  the  word  of 
command  together!" 

A  moment  later  there  was  a  general  and  vigorous 
shout  of  "Shoulder  arms!" 

The  captain  cried  out  furiously,  "I  hear  several 
corporals  saying  nothing  at  all!" 

A  well-known  artist  in  Milan  suffers  horribly 

235 


1 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

from  corns.  His  toes  are  so  sensitive  that  he 
cries  out  when  they  are  hardly  touched.  It  has 
gone  so  far  that,  when  he  steps  on  his  own  boots 
which  he  has  just  put  out  to  be  cleaned,  he  imagines 
that  his  feet  are  inside,  and  yells,  like  one  pos- 
sessed : 

"Ah-h-h!  Rhinoceros!  Look  where  you  are 
stepping!" 

In  the  Naples  police  court,  a  witness  was  once 
asked  where  he  lived. 

"With  Gennaro,"  he  replied. 

"And  where  does  Gennaro  live?" 

"With  me." 

"But  where  do  you  and  Gennaro  live?" 

"Together." 

An  elegant  young  Florentine  had  been  spending 
money  right  and  left,  so  that  he  found  himself 
unable  to  pay  his  hotel  bill.  Knowing  that  his 
father  was  perfectly  hopeless,  he  determined  to 
apply  to  his  uncle,  a  blood  relative,  be  it  under- 
stood, not  a  Lombard.  So  he  wrote  as  follows: 

"Dear  Uncle, — If  you  could  see  how  I  blush 
with  shame  while  I  am  writing,  you  would  pity 
me.  For  I  have  to  ask  you  for  a  hundred  francs, 
and  do  not  know  how  to  overcome  my  unwilling- 
ness. .  .  .  No,  it  is  impossible.  ...  I  prefer  to 
die!  ...  I  send  you  this  by  a  messenger,  who  will 
await  your  answer.  Believe  me,  my  dearest 
uncle,  your  most  obedient  nephew. 

"P.S. — Overcome  with  shame  for  what  I  have 
written,  I  have  been  running  after  the  messenger 
to  take  my  letter  back,  but  I  could  not  catch 

236 


THE  MUSICAL  LAUGHTER  OF  ITALY 

him.  Heaven  grant  that  something  may  happen 
to  stop  him,  or  that  the  letter  may  be  lost!" 

The  uncle  was  a  man  of  heart.  After  pondering 
the  letter  he  replied : 

"My  beloved  Nephew, — Console  yourself,  and 
blush  no  longer.  Providence  has  heard  your 
prayers.  The  messenger  lost  your  letter.  Your 
affectionate  uncle."/ 

Which  is  why,  perhaps,  a  certain  wise  man  has 
said  that  Italian  humor  is  Irish  humor  pitched  in 
the  minor  key.  There  is,  indeed,  something 
Hibernian  in  the  following  popular  tale. 

Tesetto  was  very  angry  with  Zerbo,  the 
physician,  when  Zerbo  said  to  him:  "Hold  your 
tongue,  you  scoundrel !  Don't  I  know  your  father 
was  a  bricklayer?" 

Tesetto  immediately  replied,  "No  one  could 
have  told  you  that  but  your  own  father,  who 
carried  the  bricks  and  mortar  for  him." 

This  little  story  also  somehow  suggests  an  Irish 
handmaiden. 

Said  her  mistress,  "Rosa,  did  you  count  the 
silver  last  night?" 

"Yes'm;  there's  a  fork  and  a  spoon  short!" 

"Do  you  know  where  they  are?" 

"Yes'm;  under  the  kitchen  table." 

It  is  right  that  Italy,  which  gives  us  the  vo- 
cabulary of  music,  and  so  many  gifted  musicians, 
should  contribute  the  best  jests  at  their  expense. 
In  this  sort  nothing  is  funnier  than  what  has  been 
written  by  Antonio  Ghislanzoni,  the  librettist  of 
Verdi's  "Aida,"  himself  a  musician  of  excellent 

237 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

parts.  For  certain  passages  thereof,  I  am  in- 
debted to  Werner's  admirable  volume. 

Writing  of  music-makers,  and  transforming 
the  ancient  proverb,  "Tell  me  who  your  friends 
are,  and  I  will  tell  you  who  you  are,"  into  "Tell 
me  what  instrument  you  blow  into  or  scrape  on, 
and  I  will  tell  you  your  fortune/7  he  begins: 

"The  clarinet  consists  of  a  severe  cold  in  the 
head,  contained  in  a  tube  of  yellow  wood.  A 
chiropodist  may  be  produced  by  study  and  hard 
work,  but  the  clarinet  -  player  is  born,  not  made. 
The  citizen  predestined  to  the  clarinet  has  an 
intelligence  which  is  almost  obtuse  up  to  the  age 
of  eighteen,  an  epoch  of  incubation,  when  he 
begins  to  feel  in  his  nose  the  first  thrills  of  his 
fatal  vocation.  Then  his  intellect,  limited  even 
then,  ceases  its  development  altogether;  but  his 
nasal  organ,  by  compensation,  assumes  colossal 
proportions.  At  twenty  he  buys  his  first  clarinet 
for  fourteen  francs;  and  three  months  later  his 
landlord  gives  him  notice.  At  twenty-five  he  is 
admitted  into  the  band  of  the  National  Guard. 
He  dies  of  a  broken  heart  on  finding  that  not  one 
of  his  three  sons  shows  the  slightest  inclination 
for  the  instruments  into  which  he  has  blown 
all  his  wits. 

"The  man  who  plays  the  trombone/'  pursues 
our  wit,  "is  always  one  who  seeks  oblivion  in  its 
society,  oblivion  of  domestic  troubles,  or  consola- 
tion for  love  betrayed.  The  man  who  has  held  a 
metal  tube  in  his  mouth  for  six  months  finds  him- 
self proof  against  every  disillusion.  At  the  age  of 

238 


THE  MUSICAL  LAUGHTER  OF  ITALY 

fifty  he  finds  that,  of  all  human  passions,  nothing 
is  left  him  but  an  insatiable  thirst.  Later  on,  if 
he  wishes  to  obtain  the  position  of  porter  in  a 
gentleman's  house  or  aspires  to  the  hand  of  a 
woman  with  a  delicate  ear,  he  tries  to  lay  aside 
his  instrument,  but  the  taste  for  loud  notes  and 
strong  liquors  only  leaves  him  with  life.  Finally, 
after  a  harmonious  career  of  seventy-eight  years, 
he  is  likely  to  die  of  grief  because  the  saloon- 
keeper will  not  give  him  a  glass  of  wine  on 
credit. 

"The  accordeon  is  the  first  instrument  of  youth 
and  innocent  hearts.  He  who  is  fated  thereto 
begins  playing  it  in  the  back  room  of  his  father's 
shop,  the  latter,  as  a  rule,  being  a  chemist  by 
profession,  and  continues  it  up  to  the  age  of  fifteen. 
At  this  period,  if  he  does  not  die,  he  deserts  the 
accordeon  for  the  harmonium.  This  instrument, 
by  reasons  of  its  monotonous  sounds  and  its 
tremendous  plaintiveness,  acts  on  the  nerves  of 
those  who  hear,  and  predisposes  those  who  play 
it  to  melancholy.  The  harmonium  -  player  is 
usually  tender  and  lymphatic  of  constitution, 
with  blue  eyes,  and  eats  only  white  meats  and 
farinaceous  foods.  If  a  man,  he  is  called  Oscar;  if 
of  the  fairer  sex,  she  is  named  Adelaide.  At  home 
he  or  she  is  in  the  habit  of  playing  after  dinner, 
the  spirits  of  the  family  being,  therefore,  more  or 
less  cheerfully  disposed,  and  will  entertain  the 
family  with  the  'Miserere'  or  'II  Trovatore/  or 
some  similar  melody.  The  harmonium  -  player 
weeps  easily.  After  practising  on  the  instrument 

239 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

for  fifteen  years  or  so,  he  or  she  dissolves  alto- 
gether, and  is  converted  into  a  rivulet. 

"The  organ  is  a  complicated  and  majestic  instru- 
ment of  a  clerical  character,  and  is  destined,  by  its 
great  volume  of  sound,  to  drown  the  flat  singing 
of  the  clergy  and  the  congregation  in  church.  The 
organist  is  usually  a  person  sent  into  the  world 
with  the  vocation  for  making  a  great  noise  without 
undue  expenditures  of  strength;  one  who  wants 
to  blow  harder  than  others  without  wearing  out 
his  own  bellows.  He  makes  a  kind  and  good-tem- 
pered husband.  At  the  age  of  sixty  he  becomes 
deaf,  and  then  begins  to  think  his  own  playing 
perfection.  At  seventy  he  usually  dies  of  a 
broken  heart,  because  a  new  priest,  who  knows 
not  Joseph,  instead  of  asking  him  to  dine  at  the 
principal  table  with  the  ecclesiastics  and  other 
church  authorities,  has  relegated  him  to  an  inferior 
place  with  the  sacristan  and  the  grave-digger. 

"The  unhappy  man  who  succumbs  to  the  fascina- 
tions of  the  flute  is  never  one  who  has  attained  the 
full  development  of  his  intellectual  faculties.  He 
always  has  a  pointed  nose,  marries  a  short-sighted 
woman,  and  dies  run  over  by  an  omnibus.  The 
man  who  plays  the  flute  frequently  adds  to  his 
other  infirmities  a  mania  for  keeping  tame  weasels, 
turtle-doves,  or  guinea-pigs. 

"To  play  the  'cello,  you  require  to  have  long, 
thin  fingers;  but  it  is  still  more  indispensable  to 
have  very  long  hair  falling  over  a  greasy  coat- 
collar.  In  case  of  fire,  the  'cellist  will  save  his 
'cello  first,  and  then  his  wife.  His  greatest  satis- 

240 


HE    CAN    EXPRESS    ALL    POSSIBLE    GRIEFS    AND    SORROWS 


THE  MUSICAL  LAUGHTER  OF  ITALY 

faction  is  that  of  '  making  the  strings  weep/ 
Sometimes  he  makes  his  wife  and  family  do  the 
same,  because  of  the  leanness  of  the  larder.  He 
can  express  through  his  loftily  attuned  strings 
all  possible  griefs  and  sorrows  except  those  of  his 
audience  and  his  creditors/' 

This  gifted  gentleman,  half  barytone,  half 
journalist,  had  a  pretty  wit;  and  we  can  find 
present  application  in  the  saying,  "How  many  old 
phrases  are  required  to  make  a  new  electoral  pro- 
gramme!" 

There  is  grace,  too,  in  the  little  story  of  the 
sausage-maker,  whose  boy  came  weeping  home 
from  school. 

"As  usual,"  exclaimed  the  parent,  "I  suppose 
you  did  not  know  your  lessons,  and  the  teacher 
called  you  an  ass,  as  you  deserved!" 

"Ye-yes!"  replied  the  sobbing  child,  "he  did 
call  me  an  ass,  and  then— 

"Well,  what  then?" 

"He  said,  'Well,  after  all  it  is  no  wonder; 
like  father,  like  child!'  " 


XIX 

DON   QUIXOTE   AND   THE   HUMOR   OF   SPAIN 

IS  Don  Quixote  funny?  I  have  been  putting 
the  question  to  my  friends.  Some  of  them  say 
that,  while  the  lean  knight  appeals  irresistibly  to 
them,  they  never  wish  to  laugh  a£  him;  they 
laugh  with  him,  perhaps,  but,  even  more,  they 
respect  and  love  him.  One  friend  tells  me  that  he 
finds  the  by-play  genuine  comedy;  the  talks  be- 
tween the  worthy  Don  and  the  plump  Sancho  Panza 
arouse  in  him  the  inclination  to  laugh,  though  he 
may  get  no  farther  than  a  gentle  smile.  Another 
friend,  who  has  loved  Cervantes's  hero  for  years, 
touched  my  heart  by  saying  that  the  nobility 
and  pathos  of  Don  Quixote  bring  tears  rather 
than  laughter;  yet  I  do  not  think  this  would  debar 
the  book  from  a  claim  to  genuine  humor. 

One  may  with  good  reason  doubt  whether  the 
knight-errant  of  La  Mancha  was  at  first  intended 
to  be  matter  of  laughter;  one  may  go  farther, 
and  doubt  whether  Cervantes,  for  all  his  protesta- 
tions, had  any  defined  purpose  at  all  in  creating 
him,  his  genius  leaning  over  his  shoulder  and 
guiding  the  pen;  and  one  may  be  deeply  con- 
vinced that  Don  Quixote  was  all  the  better  for 

242 


DON  QUIXOTE  AND  THE  HUMOR  OF  SPAIN 

that.  But  let  us  test  the  matter.  Let  us  take, 
for  example,  the  most  famous  incident  in  the 
whole  history,  the  episode  of  the  windmills. 

Don  Quixote  in  his  rusty  armor,  with  patched 
helmet  and  borrowed  buckler,  is  mounted  on  the 
lean  and  whimsical  Rosinante.  Sancho  Panza, 
fat,  talkative,  timorous,  follows,  with  saddle-bag 
and  wine-skins,  on  the  back  of  the  amiable  Dapple. 
In  the  oblique  rays  of  the  dawn,  they  are  going 
southward  toward  the  Sierra  Morena,  crossing  the 
famous  Campo  de  Montiel.  The  talk  turns  on 
the  rewards  of  knight-errants  and  their  squires, 
and  the  possible  promotion  of  Sancho 's  good,  rustic 
spouse  when  her  husband,  from  squire  to  the 
knight,  shall  have  become  governor  of  the  prom- 
ised island. 

At  this  point  they  came  in  sight  of  thirty  or  forty 
windmills  that  there  are  on  that  plain,  and  as  soon 
as  Don  Quixote  saw  them,  he  said  to  his  squire : 

"  Fortune  is  arranging  matters  better  than  we 
could  have  shaped  our  desires  ourselves,  for 
look  here,  friend  Sancho  Panza,  where  thirty  or 
more  monstrous  giants  present  themselves,  all  of 
whom  I  mean  to  engage  in  battle  and  slay,  and 
with  whose  spoils  we  shall  begin  to  make  our  for- 
tunes; for  this  is  righteous  warfare,  and  it  is  God's 
good  service  to  sweep  so  evil  a  brood  from  off  the 
face  of  the  earth/' 

"What  giants?"  said  Sancho  Panza. 

"Those  thou  seest  there,"  answered  his  master — 
"with  the  long  arms,  and  some  have  them  nearly 
two  leagues  long." 

243 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

"Look,  your  Worship/7  said  Sancho;  "what  we 
see  there  are  not  giants,  but  windmills;  and  what 
seem  to  be  their  arms  are  the  sails  turned  by  the 
wind  that  make  the  millstone  go." 

"It  is  easy  to  see/7  replied  Don  Quixote, 
"that  thou  art  not  used  to  this  business  of  adven- 
tures; those  are  giants;  and  if  thou  art  afraid, 
away  with  thee  out  of  this,  and  betake  thyself  to 
prayer  while  I  engage  them  in  fierce  and  unequal 
combat." 

So  saying,  he  gave  the  spur  to  his  steed  Rosi- 
nante,  heedless  of  the  cries  his  squire  Sancho  sent 
after  him,  warning  him  that  most  certainly  they 
were  windmills,  and  not  giants,  he  was  going  to 
attack.  He,  however,  was  so  positive  they  were 
giants  that  he  neither  heard  the  cry  of  Sancho 
nor  perceived,  near  as  he  was,  what  they  were, 
but  made  at  them  shouting,  "Fly  not,  cowards 
and  vile  beings,  for  it  is  a  single  knight  that 
attacks  you." 

A  slight  breeze  at  this  moment  sprang  up,  and 
the  great  sails  began  to  move,  seeing  which 
Don  Quixote  exclaimed,  "Though  ye  flourish  more 
arms  than  the  giant  Briareus,  ye  have  to  reckon 
with  me." 

So  saying  and  commending  himself  with  all 
his  heart  to  his  Lady  Dulcinea,  imploring  her  to 
support  him  in  such  a  peril,  with  lance  in  rest  and 
covered  with  his  buckler,  he  charged  at  Rosinante's 
fullest  gallop  and  fell  upon  the  first  mill  that  stood 
in  front  of  him;  but  as  he  drove  his  lance-point 
into  the  sail  the  wind  whirled  it  round  with  such 

244 


DON  QUIXOTE  AND  THE  HUMOR  OF  SPAIN 

force  that  it  shivered  the  lance  to  pieces,  sweeping 
with  it  horse  and  rider,  who  went  rolling  over  on 
the  plain  in  a  sorry  condition.  Sancho  hastened 
to  his  assistance  as  fast  as  his  ass  could  go,  and 
when  he  came  up  found  him  unable  to  move,  with 
such  a  shock  had  Rosinante  fallen  with  him. 

"God  bless  me!"  said  Sancho.  "Did  I  not  tell 
your  Worship  to  mind  what  you  were  about,  for 
they  were  only  windmills?  And  no  one  could 
have  made  any  mistake  about  it  but  one  who  had 
something  of  the  same  kind  in  his  head." 

"Hush,  friend  Sancho!"  replied  Don  Quixote. 
"The  fortunes  of  war,  more  than  any  other,  are  lia- 
ble to  frequent  fluctuations ;  and,  moreover,  I  think, 
and  it  is  the  truth,  that  that  same  sage  Friston,  who 
carried  off  my  study  and  books,  has  turned  these 
giants  into  windmills  in  order  to  rob  me  of  the 
glory  of  vanquishing  them,  such  is  the  enmity 
he  bears  me;  but  in  the  end  his  wicked  arts  will 
avail  but  little  against  my  good  sword." 

"God  order  it  as  He  may,"  said  Sancho  Panza; 
and,  helping  him  to  rise,  got  him  up  again  on 
Rosinante,  whose  shoulder  was  half  out;  and  then, 
discussing  the  late  adventure,  they  followed  the 
road  to  Puerto  Lapice,  for  there,  said  Don  Quixote, 
they  could  not  fail  to  find  adventures  in  abundance 
and  variety. 

Well,  gentle  reader,  how  is  it  with  you?  Have 
you  been  moved  to  laughter  by  the  famed  ad- 
venture of  the  windmills?  But  I  think  there  is  a 
far  more  humorous  episode  a  little  farther  on  in 
this  eventful  history. 

245 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

The  lean  knight  and  the  fat  squire,  mounted  on 
the  inseparable  Rosinante  and  Dapple,  fared 
forth  on  the  great  sunlit  highway  of  the  south, 
and  in  due  time  encountered  the  strange  adventures 
of  the  battle  with  the  Biscayan,  the  inn  which  the 
Don  took  to  be  an  enchanted  castle,  where  Sancho 
was  tossed  in  the  blanket  and  many  other  wonders 
befell.  After  the  fierce  battle  of  the  funeral 
cortege,  when  the  tumult  and  the  shouting  had 
died  away,  Sancho  said  to  one  of  the  company: 

"If  by  chance  these  gentlemen  should  want  to 
know  who  was  the  hero  that  served  them  so,  your 
Worship  may  tell  them  that  he  is  the  famous  Don 
Quixote  of  La  Mancha,  otherwise  called  the  Knight 
of  the  Rueful  Countenance." 

Don  Quixote  presently  asked  Sancho  what  had 
induced  him  to  call  him  the  "Knight  of  the  Rueful 
Countenance"  more  then  than  at  any  other  time. 

"I  will  tell  you,"  answered  Sancho;  "it  was  be- 
cause I  have  been  looking  at  you  for  some  time 
by  the  light  of  the  torch  held  by  that  unfortunate, 
and  verily  your  Worship  has  got  of  late  the  most 
ill-favored  countenance  I  ever  saw:  it  must  be 
either  owing  to  the  fatigue  of  this  combat  or  else 
to  the  loss  of  your  teeth." 

"It  is  not  that,"  replied  Don  Quixote,  "but 
because  the  sage  whose  duty  it  will  be  to  write 
the  history  of  my  achievements  must  have  thought 
it  proper  that  I  should  take  some  distinctive  name, 
as  all  knights  of  yore  did;  one  being  'He  of  the 
Burning  Sword,'  another  'He  of  the  Unicorn/ 
this  one  'He  of  the  Damsels/  that  'He  of  the 

246 


DON  QUIXOTE  AND  THE  HUMOR  OF  SPAIN 

Phoenix/  another  'The  Knight  of  the  Griffin/ 
and  another  'He  of  the  Death/  and  by  these 
names  and  designations  they  were  known  all  the 
world  round;  and  so  I  say  that  the  sage  afore- 
mentioned must  have  put  it  in  your  mouth  and 
mind  just  now  to  call  me  'The  Knight  of  the 
Rueful  Countenance/  as  I  intend  to  call  myself 
from  this  day  forward;  and  that  the  same  name 
may  fit  me  better — I  mean,  when  the  opportunity 
offers — to  have  a  very  rueful  countenance  painted 
on  my  shield." 

"  There  is  no  occasion,  Senor,  for  wasting  time 
or  money  on  that  countenance/'  said  Sancho, 
"for  all  that  need  be  done  is  for  your  Worship  to 
show  your  own,  face  to  face,  to  those  who  look  at 
you,  and  without  anything  more,  either  image  or 
shield,  they  will  call  you  'Him  of  the  Rueful 
Countenance':  and  believe  me  I  am  telling  the 
truth,  for  I  assure,  Senor  (and  in  good  part  be  it 
said),  hunger  and  the  loss  of  your  grinders  have 
given  you  such  an  ill-favored  face  that,  as  I  say, 
the  rueful  picture  may  be  very  well  spared." 

Don  Quixote  laughed  at  Sancho's  pleasantry; 
nevertheless  he  resolved  to  call  himself  by  that 
name  and  have  his  shield  or  buckler  painted  as 
he  had  devised.  They  made  their  way  toward 
the  mountains;  and,  after  proceeding  some  little 
distance  between  two  hills,  they  found  themselves 
in  a  wide  and  retired  valley,  where  they  alighted, 
and  Sancho  unloaded  his  beast  and  stretched  upon 
the  green  grass;  with  hunger  for  sauce,  they  break- 
fasted, dined,  lunched,  and  supped  all  at  once, 

17  247 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

satisfying  their  appetites  with  more  than  one  store 
of  cold  meat  which  the  dead  man's  clerical  gentle- 
men (who  seldom  put  themselves  on  short  al- 
lowance) had  brought  with  them  on  their  sumpter 
mule. 

But  another  piece  of  ill  luck  befell  them, 
which  Sancho  held  the  worst  of  all,  and  that  was 
that  they  had  no  wine  to  drink,  nor  even  water 
to  moisten  their  lips;  and  as  thirst  tormented 
them,  Sancho,  observing  that  the  meadow  where 
they  were  was  full  of  green  and  tender  grass,  said : 

"It  cannot  be,  Senor,  but  that  this  grass  is  a 
proof  that  there  must  be  hard  by  some  spring  or 
brook  to  give  it  moisture,  so  it  would  be  well  done 
to  move  a  little  farther  on,  that  we  may  find  some 
place  where  we  may  quench  this  terrible  thirst 
that  plagues  us,  which,  beyond  a  doubt,  is  more 
distressing  than  hunger." 

The  advice  seemed  good  to  Don  Quixote,  and, 
he  leading  Rosinante  by  the  bridle  and  Sancho, 
the  ass,  by  the  halter,  after  he  had  packed  away 
upon  him  the  remains  of  the  supper,  they  ad- 
vanced up  the  meadow  feeling  their  way,  for  the 
darkness  of  the  night  made  it  impossible  to  see 
anything;  but  they  had  not  gone  two  hundred 
paces  when  a  loud  noise  of  water,  as  if  falling  from 
great,  high  rocks,  struck  their  ears.  The  sound 
cheered  them  greatly;  but,  halting  to  make  out  by 
listening  from  what  quarter  it  came,  they  heard 
unseasonably  another  noise  which  marred  the 
satisfaction  the  sound  of  the  water  gave  them, 
especially  for  Sancho,  who  was  by  nature  timid  and 

248 


DON  QUIXOTE  AND  THE  HUMOR  OF  SPAIN 

faint-hearted;  they  heard,  I  say,  strokes  falling 
with  a  measured  beat  and  a  certain  rattling  of 
iron  and  chains  that,  together  with  the  furious 
din  of  the  water,  would  have  struck  terror  into 
any  heart  but  Don  Quixote's.  The  night  was, 
as  has  been  said,  dark,  and  they  had  happened  to 
reach  a  spot  among  some  tall  trees,  whose  leaves, 
stirred  by  a  gentle  breeze,  made  a  low,  ominous 
sound ;  so  that,  what  with  the  loneliness,  the  place, 
the  darkness,  the  noise  of  the  water,  and  the 
rustling  of  the  leaves,  everything  inspired  awe  and 
dread;  more  especially  as  they  perceived  that  the 
strokes  did  not  cease,  nor  the  wind  lull,  nor  morn- 
ing approach;  to  all  which  might  be  added  their 
ignorance  as  to  where  they  were.  But  Don 
Quixote,  supported  by  his  intrepid  heart,  leaped 
on  Rosinante,  and,  bracing  his  buckler  on  his  arm, 
brought  his  pike  to  the  slope,  and  said : 

"  Friend  Sancho,  know  that  I,  by  Heaven's  will, 
have  been  born  in  this  our  iron  age  to  revive  in  it 
the  age  of  gold.  Thou  dost  mark  well,  faithful 
and  trusty  squire,  the  gloom  of  this  night,  its 
strange  silence,  the  dull,  confused  murmur  of  those 
trees,  the  awful  sound  of  that  water,  in  quest  of 
which  we  came,  that  seems  as  though  it  were 
dashing  itself  down  from  the  mountains  of  the 
moon,  and  that  incessant  hammering  that  wounds 
and  pains  our  ears;  which  things,  all  together  and 
each  of  itself,  are  enough  to  instil  fear,  dread,  and 
dismay  into  the  breast  of  Mars  himself.  Well, 
then,  all  this  I  put  before  thee  is  but  an  incentive 
and  stimulant  to  my  spirit,  making  my  heart  burst 

249 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

in  my  bosom  through  eagerness  to  engage  in  this 
adventure,  arduous  as  it  promises  to  be;  therefore 
tighten  Rosinante's  girths  a  little,  and  God  be 
with  thee!  Wait  for  me  here  three  days,  and  no 
more,  and  if  in  that  time  I  come  not  back,  thou 
canst  return  to  our  village,  and  thence,  to  do  me  a 
favor  and  a  service,  thou  wilt  go  to  El  Toboso, 
where  thou  shalt  say  to  my  incomparable  Lady 
Dulcinea  that  her  captive  knight  hath  died  in 
attempting  things  that  might  make  him  worthy  of 
being  called  hers!" 

But  timorous,  sly  Sancho  would  by  no  means 
tighten  the  girths  or  allow  his  master  to  leave  him 
in  the  dread  dark;  indeed,  by  guile,  he  hobbled 
the  foreleg  of  Rosinante,  and  then,  when  the 
gaunt  beast  could  not  move,  persuaded  the  Don 
that  witchcraft  and  the  might  of  his  enemies,  the 
enchanters,  were  the  cause  of  it;  and  so  they  await- 
ed the  dawn,  the  one  dauntless,  the  other  shivering. 

Dawn  brought  the  climax  to  a  night  of  horrors, 
and  they  began  to  move  toward  that  quarter 
whence  the  sound  of  the  water  and  of  the  strokes 
seemed  to  come.  Advancing  some  distance 
through  the  shady  chestnut-trees,  they  came  upon 
a  little  meadow  at  the  foot  of  some  high  rocks, 
down  which  a  mighty  rush  of  water  flung  itself. 
They  went,  it  might  be,  a  hundred  paces  farther, 
when,  on  turning  a  corner,  the  true  cause,  beyond 
the  possibility  of  any  mistake,  of  that  dread- 
sounding  and  to  them  awe-inspiring  noise  that 
had  kept  them  all  the  night  in  such  fear  and 
perplexity,  appeared  plain  and  obvious;  and  it 

250 


DON  QUIXOTE  AND  THE  HUMOR  OF  SPAIN 

was  (if,  reader,  thou  art  not  disgusted  and  dis- 
appointed) six  fulling  hammers  which,  by  their 
alternate  strokes,  made  all  the  din. 

When  Don  Quixote  perceived  what  it  was,  he 
was  struck  dumb  and  rigid  from  head  to  foot. 
Sancho  glanced  at  him  and  saw  him  with  his  head 
bent  down  upon  his  breast  in  manifest  mortifica- 
tion; and  Don  Quixote  glanced  at  Sancho  and 
saw  him  with  his  cheeks  puffed  out  and  his  mouth 
full  of  laughter,  and  evidently  ready  to  explode 
with  it,  and  in  spite  of  his  vexation  he  could  not 
help  laughing  at  the  sight  of  him;  and  when 
Sancho  saw  his  master  begin,  he  let  go  so  heartily 
that  he  had  to  hold  his  sides  with  both  hands  to 
keep  himself  from  bursting  with  laughter.  Four 
times  he  stopped,  and  as  many  times  did  his 
laughter  break  out  afresh  with  the  same  violence 
as  at  first,  above  all  when  he  heard  him  say  mock- 
ingly, "Thou  must  know,  friend  Sancho,  that  of 
Heaven's  will  I  was  born  in  this  our  iron  age  to 
revive  in  it  the  age  of  gold." 

To  me,  gentle  reader,  the  whole  of  this  episode, 
from  which  I  have  but  gathered  purple  patches, 
is  the  funniest  thing  in  the  book;  I  like  it  best 
because  it  shows  the  beloved  Don  possessed  not 
only  of  knightly  valor  and  gentleness,  but  also  of 
a  sense  of  humor.  Here  we  laugh  with  him,  rather 
than  at  him,  which  is  the  essence  of  true  humor. 
Therefore,  I  hold  that  this  is  one  of  the  best  in- 
cidents in  the  whole  literature  of  humor,  one  of 
the  most  laughable,  and  at  the  same  time  one  of 
the  most  humane. 

251 


XX 

AN  ASININE   STORY 

A  LEADING  metropolitan  daily  has  recently,  in 
all  seriousness,  discussed  the  question  why  all 
Chinamen  are  funny.  I  have  heard  it  debated 
among  smug  and  stiff-necked  Saxons,  why  the 
mere  presence  of  an  Irishman  is  an  incentive  to 
mirth.  May  I,  without  peril  from  the  association 
of  ideas  and  names,  venture  to  pose  a  problem 
of  far  more  ancient  date :  Why  is  it  that  the  harm- 
less, necessary  ass,  who  is  the  very  embodiment 
of  long-suffering  wisdom,  should  for  ages  have 
been  deemed  a  comic  personage?  I  venture  to 
say  that  the  mere  appearance  of  his  name  in  the 
title  of  this  tale  has  already  made  you  smile; 
indeed,  I  counted  on  that  when  I  chose  the  title. 
But  at  the  same  time  I  am  convinced  that  neither 
you  nor  I  could  tell  the  reason  why.  Be  that  as  it 
may,  I  must  lay  philosophizing  aside  and  come  to 
the  story,  which  runs  thus: 

"  You  must  know/'  said  the  narrator,  "that  in  a 
village  four  and  a  half  leagues  from  this  inn  it  so 
happened  that  one  of  the  village  treasurers,  by 
the  tricks  and  roguery  of  a  servant-girl  of  his 
(it's  too  long  a  tale  to  tell),  lost  an  ass:  and  though 

252 


AN  ASININE  STORY 

he  did  all  he  possibly  could  to  find  it,  it  was  all  to 
no  purpose. 

"  A  fortnight  might  have  gone  by,"  so  the  story 
goes,  "  since  the  ass  had  been  missing,  when,  as 
the  treasurer  who  had  lost  it  was  standing  in  the 
plaza,  another  treasurer  of  the  same  town  said  to 
him: 

"'Pay  me  for  good  news,  friend;  your  ass  has 
turned  up/ 

"'That  I  will,  and  well,  friend/  said  the  other. 
'But  tell  us,  where  has  he  turned  up?' 

"'In  the  forest/  said  the  finder;  'I  saw  him  this 
morning  without  pack-saddle  or  harness  of  any 
sort,  and  so  lean  that  it  went  to  one's  heart  to 
see  him.  I  tried  to  drive  him  before  me  and  bring 
him  to  you,  but  he  is  already  so  wild  and  shy  that 
when  I  went  near  him  he  made  off  into  the  thickest 
part  of  the  forest.  If  you  have  a  mind  that  we 
two  should  go  back  and  look  for  him,  let  me  put  up 
this  she  ass  at  my  house  and  I'll  be  back  at 
once.' 

"'You  will  be  doing  me  a  great  kindness/  said 
the  owner  of  the  ass,  'and  I'll  try  to  pay  it  back 
in  the  same  coin.' 

"It  is  with  all  these  circumstances,  and  in  the 
very  same  way  I  am  telling  it  now,  that  those 
who  know  all  about  the  matter  tell  the  story. 

11  Well,  then,  the  two  treasurers  set  off  on  foot, 
arm  in  arm,  for  the  forest ;  and,  coming  to  the  place 
where  they  hoped  to  find  the  ass,  they  could  not 
find  him,  nor  was  he  to  be  seen  anywhere  about, 
search  as  they  might.  Seeing,  then,  that  there 

253 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

was  no  sign  of  him,  the  treasurer  who  had  seen  him 
said  to  the  other: 

"'Look  here,  friend;  a  plan  has  occurred  to  me 
by  which,  beyond  a  doubt,  we  shall  manage  to 
discover  the  animal,  even  if  he  is  stowed  away  in 
the  bowels  of  the  earth,  not  to  say  the  forest. 
Here  it  is.  I  can  bray  to  perfection,  and  if  you 
can  ever  so  little,  the  thing's  as  good  as  done/ 

"'Ever  so  little  did  you  say,  friend?'  said  the 
other.  'By  heaven,  I'll  not  yield  to  anybody,  not 
even  to  the  asses  themselves.' 

"'We'll  soon  see/  said  the  second  treasurer, 
'for  my  plan  is  that  you  should  go  one  side  of 
the  forest,  and  I  the  other,  so  as  to  go  all  round 
about  it;  and  every  now  and  then  you  will  bray, 
and  I  will  bray;  and  it  cannot  be  but  the  ass 
will  hear  us  and  answer  us  if  he  is  in  the 
forest.' 

"To  which  the  owner  of  the  ass  replied,  'It's 
an  excellent  plan,  I  declare,  friend,  and  worthy  of 
your  great  genius';  and,  the  two  separating  as 
agreed,  it  so  fell  out  that  they  brayed  almost  at 
the  same  moment,  and  each,  deceived  by  the 
braying  of  the  other,  ran  to  look,  fancying  the 
ass  had  turned  up  at  last.  When  they  came  in 
sight  of  one  another,  said  the  loser: 

'"Is  it  possible,  friend,  that  it  was  not  my  ass 
that  brayed?' 

"'No,  it  was  I,'  said  the  other. 

"'Well,  then,  I  can  tell  you,  friend,'  said  the 
ass's  owner,  'that  between  you  and  an  ass  there's 
not  an  atom  of  difference  as  far  as  braying  goes, 

254 


AN  ASININE  STORY 

for  I  never  in  all  my  life  saw  or  heard  anything 
more  natural.' 

'"  Those  praises  and  compliments  belong  to 
you  more  justly  than  to  me,  friend/  said  the  in- 
ventor of  the  plan;  'for,  by  the  Creator  who 
made  me,  you  might  give  a  couple  of  brays  odds 
to  the  best  and  most  finished  brayer  in  the  world; 
the  tone  you  have  got  is  deep,  your  voice  is  well 
kept  up  as  to  time  and  pitch,  and  your  finishing 
notes  come  thick  and  fast;  in  fact,  I  own  myself 
beaten,  and  yield  the  palm  to  you,  and  give  in  to 
you  in  this  rare  accomplishment/ 

"'Well  then,'  said  the  owner,  'I'll  set  a  higher 
value  on  myself  for  the  future,  and  consider  that 
I  know  something,  as  I  have  an  excellence  of  some 
sort;  for  though  I  always  thought  I  brayed  well, 
I  never  supposed  I  came  up  to  the  pitch  of  perfec- 
tion you  say.' 

'"And  I  say,  too,'  said  the  second,  'that  there 
are  rare  gifts  going  to  loss  in  the  world,  and  that 
they  are  ill  bestowed  upon  those  who  don't  know 
how  to  make  use  of  them.' 

"'Ours,'  said  the  owner  of  the  ass,  'unless  it 
be  in  cases  like  this  we  now  have  in  hand,  cannot 
be  of  any  service  to  us,  and,  even  in  this,  Heaven 
grant  they  may  be  of  some  use!' 

"So  saying,  they  separated  and  took  to  their 
braying  once  more;  but  every  instant  they  were 
deceiving  each  other  and  coming  to  meet  each 
other  again,  until  they  arranged  by  way  of 
countersign,  so  as  to  know  it  was  they  and  not 
the  ass,  to  give  two  brays,  one  after  the  other. 

255 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

In  this  way,  doubling  the  brays  at  every  step, 
they  made  the  complete  circuit  of  the  forest,  but 
the  lost  ass  never  gave  them  an  answer  or  even  the 
sign  of  one.  How  could  the  poor,  ill-starred  brute 
have  answered  when,  in  the  thickest  part  of  the 
forest,  they  found  him  devoured  by  wolves?  As 
soon  as  he  saw  him  his  owner  said: 

'"I  was  wondering  he  did  not  answer,  for  if  he 
wasn't  dead  he'd  have  brayed  when  he  heard  us, 
or  he'd  have  been  no  ass;  but  for  the  sake  of  having 
heard  you  bray  to  such  perfection,  friend,  I  count 
the  trouble  I  have  taken  to  look  for  him  well 
bestowed,  even  though  I  have  found  him  dead.' 

"'It's  in  a  good  hand,  friend,'  said  the  other; 
'if  the  abbot  sings  well  the  acolyte  is  not  much 
behind  him.' 

"So  they  returned  disconsolate  and  hoarse  to 
their  village,  where  they  told  their  friends,  neigh- 
bors, and  acquaintances  what  had  befallen  them  in 
their  search  for  the  ass,  each  crying  up  the  other's 
perfection  in  braying.  The  whole  story  came  to 
be  known  and  spread  abroad  through  the  villages 
of  the  neighborhood;  and  the  evil  one,  who  never 
sleeps,  with  his  love  for  sowing  dissensions  and 
scattering  discord  everywhere,  blowing  mischief 
about  and  making  quarrels  out  of  nothing,  con- 
trived to  make  the  people  of  the  other  towns  fall 
to  braying  whenever  they  saw  any  one  from  our 
village,  as  if  to  throw  the  braying  of  our  treasurers 
in  their  teeth.  Then  the  boys  took  to  it,  which 
was  the  same  thing  for  it  as  getting  into  the  hands 
and  mouths  of  all  the  devils  of  hell;  and  braying 

256 


AN  ASININE  STORY, 

spread  from  one  town  to  another  in  such  a  way 
that  the  men  of  the  braying  town  are  as  easy  to 
be  known  as  blacks  are  to  be  known  from  whites; 
and  the  unlucky  joke  has  gone  so  far  that  several 
times  the  scoffed  at  have  come  out  in  arms  and  in 
a  body  to  do  battle  with  the  scoffers,  and  neither 
king  nor  bishop,  fear  nor  shame,  can  mend  mat- 
ters. To-morrow  or  the  day  after,  I  believe,  the 
men  of  my  town — that  is,  the  braying  town — are 
going  to  take  the  field  against  another  village  two 
leagues  away  from  ours,  one  of  those  that  persecute 
us  most;  and  that  we  may  turn  out  well  prepared 
I  have  bought  these  lances  and  halberds  you  have 
seen.  These  are  the  curious  things  I  told  you  I 
had  to  tell,  and  if  you  don't  think  them  so,  I  have 
got  no  others."  And  with  this  the  worthy  fellow 
brought  the  story  to  a  close. 

The  place  of  the  telling  of  this  asinine  tale  was 
in  the  stable  of  an  inn,  in  the  heart  of  the  province 
of  La  Mancha,  southward  from  Madrid.  The 
teller  was  a  man  of  lances  and  halberds,  who  was 
stabling  his  mule.  Chief  among  the  hearers  was 
a  certain  gaunt  knight  of  La  Mancha,  who,  that 
he  might  hear  the  tale  the  sooner,  with  his  own 
hands  helped  the  sifting  of  the  barley  and  the  clean- 
ing-out of  the  manger;  a  knight  who,  from  some 
quaint  fancy  of  knight-errantry,  bred  of  the  reading 
of  monstrous  tales  of  chivalry,  had  chosen  to  call 
himself  Don  Quixote  of  La  Mancha,  true  lover 
and  servant  of  Dona  Dulcinea  del  Toboso. 

Here  is  a  wicked  little  story,  from  the  same 
golden  clime  and  golden  time.  An  old  man, 

257 


WHY  THE  WORLD   LAUGHS 

jealous  of  his  pretty  young  wife  and  a  certain  friend 
of  his,  a  merchant  and  a  widower,  fell  ill  of  a  mor- 
tal disease.  Knowing  his  case  was  hopeless,  he 
said  to  his  wife: 

"You  know,  my  dear,  that  I  cannot  escape 
this  deadly  sickness;  what  I  beg  of  you  is,  if  you 
care  to  please  me,  that  you  will  not  marry  that 
friend  of  mine,  who  often  comes  to  the  house,  and 
of  whom  I  have  been  somewhat  jealous/' 

"Dear  husband,"  replied  she,  "I  could  not  if  I 
would,  for  I  am  already  engaged  to  somebody 
else!" 

Juan  de  Timoneda,  who  tells  the  tale,  contributes 
also  this: 

A  village  maiden,  driving  before  her  an  ass, 
which,  as  it  was  returning  to  its  foal,  went  quicker 
than  the  girl,  met  a  courtier. 

"Where  do  you  live,  my  pretty  maiden?"  asked 
he. 

"At  Getafe,  sir,"  she  replied. 

"Tell  me,  do  you  know  the  innkeeper's  daughter 
there?" 

"Very  well,  sir,"  said  she. 

"Then  be  so  kind  as  to  take  her  a  kiss  from 
me!" 

"Give  it  to  my  donkey,  sir:  he  will  get  there 
first." 

Two  friends,  says  the  same  genial  narrator,  a 
weaver  and  a  tailor,  became  in  time  enemies,  so 
much  so  that  the  tailor  spoke  much  evil  of  the 
weaver,  though  the  weaver  always  spoke  well  of 
the  tailor*  A  lady  asked  the  weaver  why  he 

258 


AN  ASININE  STORY 

always  spoke  so  well  of  the  tailor,  who  always  spoke 
so  ill  of  him,  and  he  replied: 

"Madam,  we  are  both  liars." 

A  prince,  he  also  tells  us,  had  a  jester  who  kept 
a  book  of  fools,  in  which  he  put  everybody  de- 
serving that  title.  One  day  at  table  the  prince 
asked  the  jester  to  bring  him  the  book,  and  opening 
it  saw  his  'own  name,  and  below,  "His  Highness, 
on  such  a  day,  gave  fifty  ducats  to  an  alchemist 
with  which  to  go  to  Italy  and  bring  back  ma- 
terials for  making  gold  and  silver." 

"And  what  if  he  returns?"  said  the  prince. 

"Oh,  then  I  will  scratch  out  your  Highness  and 
put  him  in." 

A  blind  man  hid  some  money  at  the  foot  of  a 
tree  in  a  field  belonging  to  a  farmer.  Visiting 
it  one  day,  he  found  it  gone,  and,  suspecting  the 
farmer,  went  to  him  and  said: 

"Sir,  as  you  seem  an  honest  man,  I  have  come  to 
ask  your  advice.  I  have  a  sum  of  money  in  a 
very  safe  place,  and  now  I  have  just  as  much  more, 
and  do  not  know  if  I  should  hide  it  where  the 
first  money  is  or  somewhere  else." 

The  farmer  replied,  "Truly,  if  I  were  you,  I  would 
not  change  the  place,  it  being  as  safe  as  you  say." 

"That's  just  what  I  thought,"  said  the  blind 
man,  and  took  his  leave.  The  farmer  hurriedly 
put  back  the  money,  hoping  to  get  it  doubled,  and 
the  blind  man  in  his  turn  dug  it  up,  greatly  re- 
joicing at  recovering  what  he  had  lost. 

One  tale  more,  from  this  festive  Spaniard,  this 
time  rather  a  malicious  one.  A  certain  Biscayan, 

259 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

he  tells  us,  had  just  finished  working  on  the  belfry 
in  a  small  town  where  there  chanced  to  be  a  man 
condemned  to  death;  he  was  told  by  the  authorities 
that,  as  they  had  no  executioner,  they  would  give 
him  a  ducat  and  the  condemned  man's  clothes,  to  do 
the  job,  with  which  the  Biscayan  was  well  content. 

A  few  months  later,  finding  himself  penniless 
and  remembering  how  much  he  had  gained  by  so 
light  a  task,  he  climbed  the  belfry,  and  when  the 
townsfolk  hurried  up,  at  the  ringing  of  the  bells, 
he  looked  down  at  them,  saying: 

"  Gentlemen,  it  is  I  who  have  called  your  Wor- 
ships together.  You  must  know  that  I  have  not 
a  farthing  to  bless  myself  with,  and  you  remember 
that  you  gave  me  a  ducat  some  time  back  for 
hanging  a  man.  Now  I  have  been  considering 
that,  from  the  least  to  the  biggest  of  your  Wor- 
ships, I  am  willing  to  hang  the  whole  town  at  half 
a  ducat  each." 

Here  is  a  little  Spanish  folk  tale,  as  a  dainty 
morsel  at  the  end: 

A  certain  pasha,  says  the  tale,  had  a  daughter 
who  had  three  suitors.  When  her  father  asked 
her  which  of  the  three  she  would  marry,  she  re- 
plied that  she  wanted  all  three.  To  this  he  re- 
plied that  it  was  impossible,  as  no  woman  ever  had 
three  husbands;  but  the  girl,  who  was  wilful  and 
spoiled,  persisted;  and  at  last  the  good  pasha,  in 
despair,  called  the  three  suitors  before  him  and 
told  them  he  would  give  his  daughter  to  whichever 
returned  with  the  most  wonderful  thing  within  a 
year's  time.  The  three  suitors  set  out  on  their 

260 


AN  ASININE  STORY 

quest,  and  after  vainly  wandering  about  the  world 
for  many  months,  one  of  them  met  a  witch,  who 
showed  him  a  looking-glass  in  which  you  saw 
whatever  you  wished  to  see.  This  he  bought  from 
her.  The  second  suitor  also  met  this  witch,  who 
sold  him  a  strip  of  carpet  which  carried  you  wher- 
ever you  wished  to  go  when  you  sat  upon  it. 
The  third  suitor  bought  from  her  a  salve  which 
would  bring  a  newly  dead  corpse  back  to  life  again 
if  rubbed  upon  its  lips. 

The  three  suitors  met  and  showed  one  another 
their  respective  finds. 

"Let  us  wish  to  see  our  fair  mistress!"  said  one; 
so  they  looked  into  the  magic  mirror  and  wished, 
when,  lo  and  behold,  they  saw  her  lying  dead,  laid 
out  in  her  coffin,  ready  for  burial! 

They  were  overwhelmed  with  grief. 

"My  salve  will  restore  her  to  life,"  said  the  third 
suitor,  "but  by  the  time  that  we  get  there  she 
will  have  been  long  buried  and  the  worms  will 
have  eaten  her." 

"But  my  magic  carpet  will  take  me  to  her  at 
once,"  cried  the  second  suitor;  and  so  they  all 
sat  down  on  it  and  wished  to  be  taken  to  her. 

In  an  instant  they  found  themselves  in  the 
pasha's  palace,  and  the  salve  was  applied  to  the 
dead  girl's  lips.  She  immediately  came  to  life 
again,  sat  up,  and  looking  at  the  pasha,  said: 

"I  was  right,  you  see,  father,  when  I  wanted 
all  three!" 

Doubtless  the  story  has  a  moral,  but  I  am  in 
some  doubt  as  to  what  it  is. 

261 


XXI 

THE    MERRY   JESTS    OF   RABELAIS 

ABE  LAIS  wrote  in  the  early  fifteen  hundreds. 
1  \  A  generation  later,  little  Willie  Shakespeare 
might  have  read  him  in  the  nursery  had  he  hap- 
pened to  be  translated  and  imported  into  Strat- 
ford; and  one  can  imagine  how  the  future  swan  of 
Avon  would  have  reveled  in  him.  Michael 
Angelo,  had  he  known  French  as  well  as  Rabelais 
knew  Italian,  might  have  read  the  horrific  ad- 
ventures of  Pantagruel  in  the  serene,  large  days 
of  his  old  age;  he  would  have  enjoyed  the  gigantic 
element,  though  he  might  have  missed  some  of 
the  humor.  At  any  rate,  there  we  have  Rabelais 
placed  and  dated  between  two  giants. 

The  huge  and  genial  Gargantua  was  no  inven- 
tion of  his;  he  was  a  national  Titan,  something 
like  Finn  McCool  of  Ireland  or  that  giant  of  our 
childhood,  Robin  A-bobin  A-bilberry  Ben,  who 
"ate  more  victuals  than  threescore  men,  a  cow 
and  a  calf,  and  an  ox  and  a  half,  a  church  and  a 
steeple  and  all  the  good  people;  and  then  he  de- 
clared that  he  hadn't  enough !"  All-consuming 
giants  fill  a  long-felt  want  in  the  human  heart. 
The  taste  for  them  survives  in  our  own  time  and 

262 


THE  MERRY  JESTS  OF  RABELAIS 

land,  though  with  less  urbanity,  as  you  may  learn 
if  you  will  read  a  socialist's  description  of  Mr. 
Rockefeller. 

I  think  one  of  the  most  humorous  things  in  the 
wild,  raging,  uproarious  history  of  Gargantua  is 
this  description  of  his  childhood: 

"Gargantua,  from  three  years  upward  unto 
five,  was  brought  up  and  instructed  in  all  con- 
venient discipline,  by  the  commandment  of  his 
father;  and  spent  that  time  like  the  other  little 
children  of  the  country — that  is,  in  drinking,  eating, 
and  sleeping;  in  eating,  sleeping,  and  drinking; 
and  in  sleeping,  drinking,  and  eating.  Still  he 
wallowed  and  rolled  up  and  down  in  the  mire; 
he  blurred  and  sullied  his  nose  with  dirt;  he  blotted 
and  smutched  his  face  with  any  kind  of  nasty  stuff; 
he  trod  down  his  shoes  in  the  heel;  at  the  flies 
he  did  oftentimes  yawn,  and  ran  very  heartily 
after  the  butterflies,  the  empire  whereof  belonged 
to  his  father.  He  wiped  his  nose  on  his  sleeve 
and  dabbled,  paddled,  and  slobbered  everywhere. 
He  would  drink  from  his  slipper,  sharpened  his  teeth 
with  a  top,  washed  his  hands  in  his  broth,  and 
combed  his  head  with  a  bowl.  He  would  sit  down 
betwixt  two  stools,  cover  himself  with  a  wet  sack, 
and  drink  in  eating  of  his  soup.  He  did  eat  his 
cake  sometimes  without  bread,  would  bite  in 
laughing,  and  laugh  in  biting.  He  would  hide 
himself  in  the  water  for  fear  of  rain.  He  would 
strike  before  the  iron  was  hot,  would  blow  in  the 
dust  till  it  filled  his  eyes;  be  often  in  the  dumps. 
He  would  flay  the  fox,  say  the  Ape's  Paternoster, 

18  263 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

return  to  his  sheep,  and  turn  the  hogs  to  the  hay. 
He  would  beat  the  dogs  before  the  lion,  put  the 
plow  before  the  oxen,  and  claw  where  it  did  not 
itch.  By  gripping  all,  he  would  hold  fast  nothing, 
and  always  ate  his  white  bread  first.  He  shoed 
the  geese,  tickled  himself  to  make  himself  laugh, 
would  scrape  paper,  blur  parchment,  then  run 
away  as  hard  as  he  could.  He  would  reckon 
without  his  host.  He  would  beat  the  bushes 
without  catching  the  birds,  and  thought  that  the 
moon  was  made  of  green  cheese.  He  always 
looked  a  gift-horse  in  the  mouth.  By  robbing 
Peter  he  paid  Paul;  he  kept  the  moon  from  the 
wolves,  and  was  ready  to  catch  larks  if  ever  the 
heavens  should  fall.  He  did  make  of  necessity 
virtue,  of  such  bread  such  pottage,  and  cared  as 
little  for  the  peeled  as  the  shaven.  His  father's 
little  dogs  ate  out  of  the  dish  with  him,  and  he 
with  them.  And  that  he  might  play  and  sport 
himself,  after  the  manner  of  the  other  little 
children  of  the  country,  they  made  him  a  fair 
weather-jack  of  the  wings  of  the  windmill  of 
Myrebalais." 

That  is,  indeed,  universal  boy,  and  the  same  fine, 
prolific  skill  depicts  Gargantua  growing  up  into  a 
symbol  of  universal  man;  much  better  natured,  be 
it  said,  than  the  common  run  of  mortality.  I 
should  like  to  descant  upon  young  Gargantua  at 
the  ancient  University  of  Paris  as  the  prototype 
of  the  American  college  boy,  and  draw  therefrom 
wise  conclusions,  pro  and  contra,  as  to  the  secular 
amelioration  of  our  race.  For  instance,  this: 

264 


THE  MERRY  JESTS  OF   RABELAIS 

"They  tied  a  cable-rope  to  the  top  of  a  high 
tower,  by  one  end  whereof  hanging  near  the  ground 
he  wrought  himself  with  his  hands  to  the  very 
top;  then  upon  the  same  tract  came  down  so 
sturdily  and  firm  that  you  could  not  on  a  plain 
meadow  have  run  with  more  assurance.  They 
set  up  a  great  pole  fixed  upon  two  trees.  There 
would  he  hang  by  his  hands,  and  with  them  alone, 
his  feet  touching  at  nothing,  would  go  back  and 
fore  along  the  aforesaid  rope  with  so  great 
swiftness  that  hardly  could  one  overtake  him 
with  running;  and  then,  to  exercise  his  breast 
and  lungs,  he  would  shout  like  all  the  devils  in 
hell." 

Gentle  reader,  does  this,  perchance,  suggest  to 
you  some  young  football  hero  of  your  acquaintance 
doing  stunts  for  the  delectation  of  some  fair 
creature  in  petticoats,  and  then,  no  longer  able 
to  subdue  the  pent-up  fires,  suddenly  breaking 
into  a  college  yell?  Which,  by  the  way,  rhymes 
with  what  Rabelais  said.  This  is  the  very 
naturalism  of  that  great  and  genial  soul;  his 
caricature  is  of  universal  validity,  and  his 
spirit  is  invariably  honest  and  benign.  Take  the 
episode  of  Gargantua  stealing  the  bells  of  Notre 
Dame;  what  college  student,  worth  his  salt,  but 
has  wanted  to  do  that;  has,  indeed,  done  something 
as  like  it  as  might  be?  I  knew  a  group  of  studious 
young  university  persons  who  stole  the  city  flag 
from  the  mayor's  official  home,  and  pelted  his 
successor,  who  happened  to  be  in  the  bakery  busi- 
ness, with  samples  of  his  own  buns.  I  knew  a 

265 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

medical  student  who  had  gathered  in  scores  of 
the  golden  balls  which  denote  that  money  may 
be  loaned;  I  knew  another  who  collected  gold  boots 
from  shoe-shops;  I  knew  yet  another — but,  as 
Maitre  Pathelin  says,  in  an  old  French  farce,  let 
us  return  to  our  muttons  and  Gargantua. 

Excellent,  and  of  universal  import,  is  the  story 
of  the  great  war  which  arose  between  Picrocho- 
la's  men  and  the  people  of  Grangousier,  Gar- 
gantua's  honored  father,  over  the  stealing  of  the 
cakes.  The  Italians  should  have  read  that  be- 
fore they  laid  hold  of  Tripoli.  The  Young  Turks 
seem  to  have  studied  it,  as  they  refuse  to  make 
restitution  of  the  property  stolen  from  them. 

After  doing  deeds  of  valor  in  the  fight,  young 
Gargantua,  feeling  himself  somewhat  dry,  asked 
whether  they  could  get  him  a  lettuce  salad.  Now 
it  happened  that  six  pilgrims,  who  were  coming 
from  Sebastian  near  Nantes,  being  afraid  of  the 
/enemy,  had  hid  themselves  in  the  garden  among 
the  cabbages  and  lettuces.  Gargantua,  hearing 
that  there  were  good  lettuces  there,  went  forth 
himself,  and  brought  in  his  hand  what  he  thought 
good,  and  withal  carried  away  the  six  pilgrims, 
who  were  in  so  great  fear  that  they  did  not  dare 
to  speak  or  cough.  As  he  was  washing  them, 
therefore,  first  at  the  fountain,  the  pilgrims  said 
one  to  another  softly: 

"  What  shall  we  do?  We  are  almost  drowned 
here  among  those  lettuces.  Shall  we  speak?  But 
if  we  speak  he  will  kill  us  for  spies." 

And  as  they  were  thus  deliberating  what  to  do, 

266 


THE  MERRY  JESTS  OF  RABELAIS 

Gargantua  put  them  with  the  lettuce  into  a  platter 
of  the  house,  as  large  as  the  huge  tun  of  the 
White  Friars  of  the  Cistercian  Order;  which  done, 
with  oil,  vinegar,  and  salt,  he  ate  them  up,  to 
refresh  himself  a  little  before  supper,  and  had 
already  taken  in  five  of  the  pilgrims,  the  sixth 
being  in  the  platter,  totally  hid  under  a  lettuce, 
except  his  palmer's  staff  that  appeared,  and 
nothing  else. 

Which  Grangousier  seeing,  said  to  Gargantua, 
"I  think  that  is  the  horn  of  a  snail;  do  not  eat 
it." 

"Why  not?'7  said  Gargantua,  "they  are  good 
all  this  month";  which  he  no  sooner  said,  but, 
drawing  up  the  staff,  and  therewith  taking  up 
the  pilgrim,  he  ate  him  very  well,  then  drank  a 
terrible  draught  of  excellent  white  wine. 

The  pilgrims,  thus  gobbled  up,  made  shift  to 
save  themselves  as  well  as  they  could  by  drawing 
their  bodies  out  of  the  reach  of  the  grinders  of  his 
teeth,  but  thought  they  had  been  thrown  into 
the  lowest  dungeons  of  a  prison.  And  when 
Gargantua  gulped  the  great  draught,  they  thought 
to  have  drowned  in  his  mouth,  and  the  flood 
of  wine  had  almost  carried  them  away  into  the 
gulf  of  his  stomach.  Nevertheless,  skipping  with 
their  staffs,  as  St.  Michael's  palmers  used  to  do, 
they  sheltered  themselves  from  the  danger  of  that 
inundation  under  the  banks  of  his  teeth.  But 
one  of  them,  by  chance,  grooping  or  sounding 
the  country  with  his  staff,  to  try  whether  they 
were  in  safety  or  no,  struck  hard  against  the 

267 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

cleft  of  a  hollow  tooth,  and  hit  the  mandibulary 
nerve,  which  put  Gargantua  to  very  great  pain, 
so  that  he  began  to  cry  in  the  rage  that  he  felt. 
To  ease  himself,  therefore,  of  his  smarting  ache,  he 
called  for  his  toothpick,  and,  rubbing  a  walnut- 
tree  toward  where  they  lay  skulking,  unnestled 
you,  my  gentlemen  pilgrims. 

The  six  pilgrims,  being  thus  miraculously  es- 
caped from  imminent  death,  and  that  night  lying 
in  a  lodge  near  unto  Coudray,  were  greatly  com- 
forted in  their  miseries  by  one  of  their  company, 
who  showed  them  that  this  adventure  had  been 
foretold  by  the  prophet  David  in  the  Psalms: 

"Then  they  had  swallowed  us  up  alive,  when 
their  wrath  was  kindled  against  us :  then  the  waters 
had  overwhelmed  us,  the  stream  had  gone  over 
our  soul.  Blessed  be  the  Lord,  who  hath  not  given 
us  a  prey  to  their  teeth.  Our  soul  is  escaped  as 
a  bird  out  of  the  snare  of  the  fowler." 

Which  bit  of  genial  irreverence  brings  us  to 
another  side  of  Rabelais,  his  courageous  and  out- 
spoken protests  against  every  form  of  religious 
bigotry,  narrowness,  intolerance,  persecution,  hy- 
pocrisy. The  great  battle  between  the  followers 
of  Luther  and  of  Rome  was  raging  fiercely,  and  each 
side  was  lighting  the  fagots  for  the  other.  To 
speak  plainly  was  dangerous,  and  to  keep  silent 
was  cowardly.  Therefore  Rabelais  again  and 
again  breaks  forth  in  wild,  copious,  humorous, 
outrageous  denunciation,  which  shows  that  he 
was  in  reality  a  brave  soldier  in  the  war  of  libera- 
tion of  humanity.  But  he  covers  up  his  attack  in 

268 


THE  MERRY  JESTS  OF  RABELAIS 

such  a  whirlwind  of  burlesque  buffoonery  that  no 
churchman  could  venture  to  prosecute  him  with- 
out drowning  himself  in  a  deluge  of  ridicule,  even 
as  those  pilgrims  were  almost  drowned  in  Gar- 
gantua's  prodigious  draught  of  wine.  But  these 
attacks  on  intrenched  bigotry  and  hypocrisy  are 
not  the  motive  of  Rabelais's  books;  they  are  mere 
incidents  of  the  time  and  of  his  big,  honest  nature. 
He  was  really  disburdening  himself  of  a  jolly, 
genial,  sincere  gospel  of  humane  urbanity,  em- 
bodied, according  to  the  hilarious  abundance  and 
whimsicality  of  his  spirit,  in  wildly  grotesque 
fables  and  buffoonery;  and  it  was  simply  because 
his  genial  soul  came  into  concussion  against  in- 
tolerance that  he  turned  aside  from  his  main 
purpose  of  jovial  fun-making  to  attack  the  sneaks 
and  knaves.  For  a  sample: 

"If  you  conceive,"  says  Gargantua,  "how  an 
ape  in  a  family  is  always  mocked,  and  provokingly 
incensed,  you  shall  easily  apprehend  how  monks 
are  shunned  of  all  men,  both  young  and  old.  The 
ape  keeps  not  the  house  as  a  dog  doth;  he  draws 
not  in  the  plow  as  the  ox;  he  yields  neither 
milk  nor  wool  as  the  sheep;  he  carrieth  no  burden 
as  a  horse  doth.  That  which  he  doth  is  only  to 
spoil  and  defile  all,  which  is  the  cause  wherefore 
he  hath  of  men  mocks,  frumperies,  bastinadoes. 
After  the  same  manner  a  monk — I  mean  those 
lither,  idle,  lazy  monks — doth  not  labor  and  work, 
as  do  the  peasant  and  artificer;  doth  not  ward 
and  defend  the  country,  as  doth  the  man  of  war; 
cureth  not  the  sick  and  diseased,  as  the  physician 

269 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

doth;  doth  neither  preach  nor  teach,  as  do  the 
evangelical  doctors  and  schoolmasters;  doth  not 
import  commodities  and  things  necessary  for  the 
commonwealth,  as  the  merchant  doth.  There- 
fore is  it  that  by  and  of  all  men  they  are  hooted 
at,  hated,  and  abhorred." 

Yet  another  example.  "Why,"  quoth  Friar 
John,  "do  we  not  rather  remove  our  humanities 
into  some  good,  warm,  holy  kitchen,  that  noble 
laboratory,  and  there  admire  the  turning  of 
spits,  the  harmonious  rattling  of  the  jacks  and 
fenders,  criticize  the  position  of  the  lard,  the 
temperature  of  the  soup,  the  preparation  for  the 
desserts,  and  the  order  of  the  wine  service? 
Beati  immaculati  in  via.  Matter  of  breviary, 
my  masters." 

WTiereto  the  follower  of  Gargantua  answers, 
"This  is  spoken  like  a  true  monk:  I  mean  like  a 
right  monking  monk,  not  a  bemonked  monastical 
monkling." 

But  the  true  note  of  Rabelais  is  sheer  glorious 
and  outrageous  fooling,  uproarious  mirth,  genial, 
kindly,  humane.  Take,  for  instance,  this  speech 
of  the  scholar  from  Paris,  whom  Gargantua' s 
son,  Pantagruel,  meets  on  the  way,  and  asks  him, 
"How  do  you  spend  your  time  there,  you  my 
masters  the  students  of  Paris?" 

The  scholar  answered,  "We  transfretate  the 
Sequane  at  the  dilucul  and  crepuscul:  we  deam- 
bulate  by  the  compites  and  quadrivies  of  the  urb; 
we  despumate  the  Latial  verbocination;  and,  like 
verisimilary  amorabunds,  we  captate  the  benevo- 

270 


THE  MERRY  JESTS  OF  RABELAIS 

lence  of  the  omnijugal,  omniform,  omnigenal 
feminine  sex.  And  if  by  fortune  there  be  rarity 
or  penury  of  pecune  in  our  marsupies,  and  that 
they  be  exhausted  of  ferruginean  metal,  for  the 
shot  we  demit  our  codices,  and  oppignerate  our 
vestments,  whilst  we  prestolate  the  coming  of  the 
Tabellaries  from  the  penates  and  patriotic  lares." 

Needless  to  say,  Pantagruel  got  very  angry, 
and  thrashed  the  scholar  till  he  shrieked  for 
mercy  in  vernacular  Gallic. 

That  is  your  genuine  Rabelais,  one  of  the  great 
mirth-makers  of  the  world  and  of  all  time. 


XXII 

FROM  MOLIERE   TO   DAUDET 

THE  funniest  thing  that  I  have  been  able  to 
find  in  Moliere,and  one  of  the  slyest  in  all  litera- 
ture, is  a  little  scene  in  "Love,  the  Physician," 
which  was  written  to  the  order  of  King  Louis  XIV. 
in  the  autumn  of  1665  and  acted  at  Versailles 
while  the  first  streaks  of  gold  and  red  were  touch- 
ing the  beeches  in  the  park. 

"Love,  the  Physician"  introduces  us  to  a 
wealthy  merchant,  with  one  fair  daughter  and  no 
more,  who  says,  most  reasonably,  that  he  does 
not  want  her  to  marry,  because,  for  the  life  of 
him,  he  cannot  see  why  he  should  give  up  his 
child  and  his  money  to  some  young  sprig  with  a 
plume  in  his  cap  who  comes  along  and  cries, 
"Stand  and  deliver!" 

So,  when  the  fair  maiden  has  most  perversely, 
as  maidens  are  wont,  set  her  tender  heart  upon 
just  such  a  sprig,  he  turns  a  deaf  ear  to  her  plead- 
ing and  grunts  and  growls  in  unresponsive  in- 
dignation. The  maiden,  as  maidens  are  wont, 
determines  to  have  her  own  way;  so,  with  her  maid, 
she  concocts  a  plot  as  old  as  time  itself:  she  will 
fall  sick,  feign  imminent  and  oncoming  death, 

272 


FROM  MOLIERE  TO  DAUDET 

and  so  wring  the  heart  of  papa  that  he  will 
agree  to  anything  to  bring  her  back  to  life  again. 

So  said,  so  done.  The  maiden  fair  is  presently 
disclosed  in  a  darkened  room,  pale,  attenuated, 
palpitating;  while  fond  papa,  who  was  evidently 
no  novel  -  reader,  is  seen  tearing  his  hair  and 
moaning  in  anguished  dread.  In  his  haste  he 
says,  not,  like  the  psalmist,  "All  men  are  liars/7  but, 
"Go  quick;  fetch  a  doctor!"  with  such  vehement 
fear  that  his  servant  straightway  rings  up  four. 
They  assemble,  one  after  another  examining  the 
love-lorn  maiden,  scrutinizing  her  tongue,  touch- 
ing her  feeble  pulse,  and  pressing  with  anxious 
palm  her  fevered  brow.  Then,  in  another  room, 
shut  in  by  themselves,  they  enter  into  consultation 
upon  their  patient,  and  the  following  discourse 
ensues  after  the  learned  physicians  have  seated 
themselves  and  coughed  judicially. 

Doctor  des  Fonandres  begins  the  consultation 
by  remarking  that  Paris  is  a  very  large  place,  and 
that  it  is  necessary  to  make  long  journeys  when 
practice  is  brisk.  To  this,  Doctor  Tomes  replies 
that  he  is  glad  to  say  he  has  an  admirable  mule, 
which  covers  an  astonishing  stretch  of  ground 
every  day.  Doctor  des  Fonandres  rejoins  that 
his  own  horse  is  a  wonder,  an  indefatigable  beast. 
Doctor  Tom&s,  taking  up  the  gauntlet  for  his  mule, 
declares  that,  on  that  very  day,  he  went  first 
close  to  the  arsenal;  from  the  arsenal  to  the  end  of 
the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain;  from  the  Faubourg 
Saint-Germain  to  the  end  of  the  Marais;  from  the 
end  of  the  Marais  to  the  Porte  Saint-Honore; 

273 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

from  the  Porte  Saint-Honore  to  the  Faubourg 
Saint- Jacques;  from  the  Faubourg  Saint-Jacques 
to  the  Porte  de  Richelieu;  from  the  Porte  de 
Richelieu  to  the  house  in  which  they  then  were, 
and  that  he  had  still  to  go  to  the  Place  Royale. 

Doctor  des  Fonandres  affirms  that  his  horse 
has  done  all  that  and  more,  as  he  has  also  been  to 
see  a  patient  at  Ruel. 

Then  Doctor  Tomes  turns  the  talk  to  the 
famous  dispute  between  the  two  physicians 
Theophrastus  and  Artemius,  and  asks  his  colleague 
which  side  he  takes  in  the  dispute.  The  other 
says  he  is  for  Artemius. 

"So  am  I,"  replies  Tomes,  although  his  advice, 
as  we  have  seen,  killed  the  patient,  and  that  of 
Theophrastus  was  certainly  much  better;  yet  the 
latter  was  decidedly  wrong,  under  the  circum- 
stances, and  he  ought  not  to  have  held  an  opinion 
different  from  that  of  his  senior. 

"What  say  you?"  he  asks  his  colleague,  who 
replies  that,  unquestionably,  etiquette  should  al- 
ways be  preserved,  no  matter  what  happens. 

"For  my  part,"  continues  Doctor  Tomes, 
"I  am  excessively  strict  in  these  matters,  except 
between  friends.  The  other  day  three  of  us  were 
called  in  to  a  consultation  with  a  provincial 
doctor,  whereupon  I  stopped  the  whole  affair;  I 
would  not  allow  the  consultation  to  take  place 
if  things  were  not  to  be  done  in  order.  The 
people  of  the  house  did  what  they  could  and  the 
sickness  grew  worse,  but  I  would  not  give  way  and 
the  patient  died  heroically  during  the  dispute." 

274 


FROM  MOLlfiRE  TO  DAUDET 

His  worthy  colleague  replies  that  it  is  quite  right 
to  teach  people  how  to  behave,  and  to  show  them 
their  ignorance;  and  Doctor  Tomes  continues: 

"  A  dead  man  is  but  a  dead  man  and  of  no  conse- 
quence whatever;  but  the  whole  medical  profes- 
sion suffers  if  one  formality  is  neglected." 

Well,  gentle  reader,  has  it  dawned  on  you  where 
the  joke  comes  in?  This  eloquent  and  animated 
talk  is  supposed  to  be  a  consultation  of  physicians 
over  a  girl  at  the  point  of  death;  and  the  good 
doctors  have  evidently  forgotten  all  about  her, 
as  you,  perhaps,  have  also  done,  while  reading 
their  lucubrations.  But  her  fond  papa  now  pops 
in,  and  a  further  scene  of  comedy  begins,  which 
ends  by  Doctor  Tomes  saying,  "If  you  do  not 
bleed  your  daughter  immediately  she  is  a  dead 
woman";  to  which  Doctor  des  Fonandres  in- 
dignantly retorts,  "If  you  do  bleed  her,  she  will 
not  live  a  quarter  of  an  hour."  Let  me  relieve 
your  apprehensions,  good  reader,  by  telling  you 
that  the  maiden  made  a  sudden  and  astonishing 
recovery,  after  this  manner:  A  fifth  doctor  pre- 
sented himself,  who  was  no  other  than  the  desired 
lover  in  disguise.  He  prescribed  sundry  weird 
things,  among  others  an  imaginary  marriage, 
which  was  so  realistically  carried  out  that  the 
fond  papa  presently  discovered  that  he  had  signed 
a  marriage  contract  consenting  to  the  espousal  of 
his  daughter  and  fixing  on  her  a  dowry  of  twenty 
thousand  crowns.  Thereafter,  marriage  bells  and 
general  rejoicings. 

So  far  Moliere.    In  La  Fontaine's  fables  there 

275 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

are  some  mildly  amusing  things.  I  remember, 
for  instance,  an  eloquent  poem  on  a  hen-pecked 
husband,  and  another  on  a  covetous  priest  who, 
as  he  conducts  the  mortal  remains  of  one  of  his 
parishioners  to  the  vault,  speculates  on  the  rich 
legacy  which  he  expects  to  receive.  But  his 
parishioner,  though  dead,  takes  the  trick,  for  the 
coffin  falls  on  the  priest  and  turns  him  also  into 
funereal  matter. 

Coming  nearer  our  own  days,  I  recall  a  charm- 
ingly irreverent  poem  by  Beranger,  one  of  the 
greatest  and  most  genial  of  Frenchmen;  a  poem 
which  describes  how  Monsieur  the  Deity  woke 
one  morning,  opened  His  window,  and  looked  out 
for  our  little  earth,  vaguely  speculating  with 
Himself  as  to  whether  it  had  perished  during  the 
night.  But  He  sees  it  whirling  away  in  a  distant 
corner,  and  thereupon  ruminates  thus: 

"If  I  understand  how  they  get  along  there, 
may  the  devil  fly  away  with  Me,  My  children! 
Black  or  white,  roasted  or  frozen,  these  little 
mortals  pretend  that  I  direct  them!  But,  thank 
Heaven,  I  also  have  ministers!  If  I  don't  fire 
two  or  three  of  them,  I  hope,  My  children,  that  the 
devil  will  fly  away  with  Me!  Was  it  in  vain 
that,  to  make  them  live  in  peace,  I  gave  them 
lovely  woman  and  wine?  But  to  My  very  beard 
these  pygmies  call  Me  the  God  of  Armies,  and  fire 
cannon  at  each  other  in  My  name.  If  I  have 
ever  led  a  regiment,  I  hope,  My  children,  that  the 
devil  will  fly  away  with  Me!  What  are  those 
dwarfs  doing,  prinked  out  on  thrones  with  golden 

276 


FROM  MOLIERE  TO  DAUDET 

nails?  With  anointed  brows  and  haughty  mien, 
these  chiefs  of  your  ant-hill  say  that  I  have  blessed 
their  crowns,  that  through  My  grace  they  reign  as 
kings.  If  it  is  through  Me  they  reign  like  that, 
I  hope,  My  children,  that  the  devil  will  fly  away 
with  Me!  I  feed  yet  other  dwarfs  in  black, 
whose  incense  My  nose  dreads ;  they  turn  life  into 
Lent,  and  launch  anathemas  in  My  name,  in 
sermons  beautiful  indeed,  but  which  are  all  Hebrew 
to  Me.  If  I  believe  a  word  they  say  in  them,  I 
hope,  My  children,  that  the  devil  will  fly  away 
with  Me!" 

Come  we  now  to  Alphonse  Daudet,  and  his  great- 
est creation,  "Tartarin  de  Tarascon."  Daudet, 
an  ardent  lover  of  Cervantes  and  his  gaunt, 
chivalric  hero,  bethought  him  to  create  a  modern 
Don  Quixote  of  the  nineteenth  century  in  the  full 
sunlight  of  southern  France.  So  he  made  Tartarin 
redoubtable,  sturdy,  magnetic,  imaginative,  and 
set  him  down  amid  the  mirages  of  Tarascon,  on 
the  bank  of  the  Rhone.  Tartarin  is  the  center 
of  a  mock  heroic  company  made  up  of  "the  brave 
commandant  Bravida,"  really  a  retired  army 
tailor,  the  armorer  Costecalde,  the  pharmacist 
Bezuquet,  and  the  rest,  who  are  banded  together 
into  a  hunters'  club.  But  alas!  there  is  no  game, 
not  even  a  partridge  or  a  rabbit;  so  the  Nimrods 
are  reduced  to  throwing  their  caps  in  the  air, 
and  shooting  at  them.  Then  they  return  home, 
well  content,  and,  soaked  in  Tarascon  sunshine, 
dine  heartily,  and  fight  their  battles  o'er. 

Circus  comes  to  town,  bringing  a  magnificent 

277 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

Atlas  lion.  Tartarin  is  stirred  to  the  depths  of 
his  heart.  He  stands  on  guard  before  the  cage 
and  says,  in  his  reverberant  bass,  "Ah,  that  were 
a  hunt  worth  trying!"  and  immediately  word  goes 
abroad  that  Tartarin  is  going  forth,  voyaging  to 
Mount  Atlas  to  hunt  lions.  The  good  man  had 
no  such  thought,  but  he  is  nagged  into  living  up 
to  the  popular  hope,  and  sets  forth,  a  portentous 
figure,  with  two  cases  of  rifles,  a  patent  collapsible 
tent,  a  traveling  drug  -  case,  knives,  revolvers, 
boxes;  himself  garbed  as  an  Algerian,  and  so, 
after  a  humiliating  sea-trip,  he  arrives  at  the 
French  colony  of  Algiers,  the  one  exotic  figure  in 
that  little  Parisian  outpost. 

The  lions  of  Atlas  sleep  in  peace,  however,  for 
Tartarin,  less  devoted  than  Don  Quixote  to  an 
ideal  flame,  falls  head  and  ears  in  love  with  a 
Moorish  beauty,  whom  he  immediately  loses  in 
the  crowd.  By  the  help  of  his  good  friend  the 
Prince  of  Montenegro  he  recovers  her,  as  the 
prince  assures  him,  though  he  himself  has  doubts; 
but  he  is  presently  lapped  in  Oriental  luxury, 
in  a  charming  Villa  Amanda  of  Moorish  design, 
and  wholly  enthralled  by  the  fair  Baya's  charms. 

At  last  his  better  man  awakes,  and  he  goes  forth 
to  hunt  lions  and  returns  shorn.  He  shoots  first 
a  poor  little  donkey,  which  earns  him  a  good 
drubbing,  and  then  an  aged  lion,  lame  and  blind, 
which  has  been  employed,  like  a  blind  man's  dog, 
to  gather  coppers  for  a  Moorish  monastery. 
As  the  culmination  of  his  woes,  the  Prince  of 

Montenegro  goes  off  with  his  pocketbook.    Tar- 

278 


FROM  MOLIERE  TO  DAUDET 

tarin  returns  to  Algiers  with  but  one  friend,  a 
faithful  camel  who  has  shared  with  him  the 
dangers  of  the  desert,  and  has  conceived  a  deep- 
rooted  attachment  for  the  bold  Tarascon  hero, 
and  very  embarrassingly  insists  on  accompanying 
him  everywhere.  Tartarin,  yearning  for  the  ten- 
der consolations  of  his  faithful  Baya,  finds  that 
she,  too,  is  fickle  and  has  transferred  her  heart 
to  a  more  recent  wooer.  Tartarin,  utterly  dis- 
illusioned, is  returning  through  a  back  street  of 
Algiers  just  before  dawn.  He  terrorizes  the 
muezzin,  takes  his  turban  and  cloak,  and  gravely 
ascends  to  the  terrace  of  the  minaret.  Let 
Daudet  continue: 

"The  sea  was  gleaming  in  the  distance.  The 
white  roofs  were  sparkling  in  the  moonlight.  The 
night  breeze  wafted  the  notes  of  late  guitars. 
The  Tarascon  muezzin  hesitated  a  moment,  then, 
raising  his  arms,  he  began  a  shrill  psalmody: 

" '  La  Allah  il  Allah. . .  Mohammed  is  an  old  hum- 
bug. . .  .  The  Orient,  the  Koran,  the  lions,  and  the 
Moorish  beauties  are  not  worth  a  copper!  .  .  . 
There  are  no  more  pirates  .  .  .  there  are  only 
sharpers.  .  .  .  Long  live  Tarascon!  .  .  .' ' 

And  while,  in  a  bizarre  jargon  of  blended  Arabic 
and  Provenyal,  the  illustrious  Tartarin  scattered 
to  the  four  corners  of  the  horizon,  over  the  sea, 
over  the  city,  over  the  plain,  over  the  mountain, 
his  joyous  Tarascon  malediction,  the  clear,  grave 
voices  of  the  other  muezzins  replied  to  him,  spread- 
ing from  minaret  to  minaret,  and  the  last  believers 
of  the  upper  town  devoutly  beat  their  breasts.  .  .  . 

19  279 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

But  one  desire  remained  to  Tartarin:  to  slink 
back  unobserved  to  Tarascon,  and  there  to  hide 
his  diminished  head.  But  he  counted  without  one 
devoted  friend;  let  Daudet  again  tell  the  tale: 

"  After  this  disastrous  expedition,  he  had  hoped 
to  return  home  incognito.  But  the  encumbering 
presence  of  the  love-sick  camel  rendered  it  im- 
possible. What  an  entry  he  would  have  to  make, 
O  merciful  Heaven!  Not  a  copper,  not  a  lion, 
nothing!  ...  A  camel!  .  .  . 

' ' '  Tarascon !    Tarascon  V 

"  There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  leave  the 
train. 

"O  stupefying  fact!  Hardly  had  the  hero's 
Algerian  cap  appeared  at  the  opening  of  the 
gate  when  a  great  cry,  'Long  live  Tartarin !' 
made  the  glass  roof  of  the  station  tremble.  'Long 
live  Tartarin!  Long  live  the  lion -killer!'  And 
then  a  flourish  of  trumpets,  a  burst  of  music, 
followed.  .  .  .  Tartarin  was  almost  dead  with 
shame.  He  thought  some  trick  was  being  played 
on  him.  But  no!  All  Tarascon  was  there,  waving 
hats  and  full  of  cordiality.  There  was  the  brave 
commandant  Bravida,  the  armorer  Costecalde, 
the  president,  the  pharmacist,  and  the  whole 
noble  band  of  cap-hunters,  crowding  round  their 
leader  and  carrying  him  in  triumph  all  along  the 
stairways.  .  .  ." 

Singular  effects  of  the  mirage!  The  skin  of  the 
blind  lion,  sent  to  Bravida,  was  the  cause  of  all 
this  uproar.  With  that  modest  pelt,  exhibited 
at  the  club,  the  men  of  Tarascon,  and  the  whole 

280 


FROM  MOLIERE  TO  DAUDET 

south  at  their  backs,  had  turned  their  heads. 
The  "Semaphore"  had  spoken.  A  whole  drama 
had  been  invented.  It  was  no  longer  a  single 
lion  that  Tartarin  had  slain,  but  ten  lions,  twenty 
lions,  a  cargo  of  lions!  So  Tartarin,  when  he 
landed  at  Marseilles,  was  already  famous  there 
without  knowing  it;  and  an  enthusiastic  telegram 
had  outstripped  him,  reaching  his  native  city 
two  hours  before  him. 

But  what  set  the  crown  on  the  people's  joy 
was  the  vision  of  a  fantastic  animal,  covered 
with  dust  and  sweat,  appearing  in  the  hero's 
wake  and  clattering  down  the  station  stairway. 
For  a  moment  Tarascon  thought  the  mythical 
Tarasque  had  returned. 

Tartarin  reassured  his  compatriots. 

"That  is  my  camel/'  said  he. 

And  already  under  the  influence  of  the  sun  of 
Tarascon,  that  lovely  sun  which  brings  forth 
innocent  fictions,  he  added,  caressing  the  drome- 
dary's hump: 

"A  noble  beast!  ...  It  saw  me  kill  all  my 
lions." 

Thereupon,  his  face  rosy  with  joy,  he  took  the 
commandant's  arm  with  a  familiar  gesture;  and, 
followed  by  his  camel,  surrounded  by  the  cap- 
hunters,  acclaimed  by  the  whole  populace,  he  set 
forth  peacefully  toward  the  house  of  the  baobab, 
and  as  he  walked  he  began  the  story  of  his  mighty 
hunts. 

"Picture  to  yourself,"  he  said,  "that,  on  a  cer- 
tain evening,  in  the  heart  of  the  Sahara  ..." 

281 


XXIII 

OLD   HIGH   GERMAN   JOKES 

TO  comply  with  the  promise  of  my  title,  the 
jokes  must,  I  suppose,  be  old  and  high  and  Ger- 
man. As  for  their  antiquity,  some  of  the  best  of 
them  go  back  to  the  thirteenth  century,  and  have, 
therefore,  the  novelty  of  the  well-forgotten. 
Where  they  are  too  high  I  shall  endeavor  to 
temper  their  altitude;  and,  as  for  their  being 
German,  why,  that  is  my  very  reason  for  recording 
them. 

In  these  Old  High  German  jokes  there  seems  to 
be  a  general  type.  An  energetic  person  of  humor- 
ous bent  and  cheerful  rascality  goes  forth  through 
the  world,  seeking  and  finding  disreputable  ad- 
ventures, playing  rowdy  practical  jokes,  and 
laughing  uproariously  at  his  own  escapades; 
whereat  the  audience  is  supposed  to  laugh  in 
sympathetic  chorus.  The  course  of  this  roistering 
Goth  is  liberally  irrigated  with  beer,  which  is 
joyously  swilled  by  red-faced  persons  with  car- 
buncle noses,  fat  paunches,  and  a  general  air  of 
disreputable  conviviality.  In  a  word,  Falstaff 
is  the  very  model.  Such  is  the  worthy  Parson 
Ameis  of  the  thirteenth  century.  Such  is  the 

282 


OLD  HIGH  GERMAN  JOKES 

sixteenth-century  Till  Eulenspiegel.  Such  is  his 
successor,  Hans  Clauert.  Such,  in  the  eighteenth 
century,  though  with  the  difference  that  he  was 
a  real  person  and  a  most  outrageous  liar,  was 
Baron  Mlinchhausen.  And  such,  in  the  late 
nineteenth  century,  was  the  famed  Tobias  Knopf. 
The  laughter  is  hilarious  and  breezy,  the  humor 
never  so  fine-drawn  as  to  be  in  any  danger  of 
passing  uncomprehended,  the  repertory  demon- 
strates that  smoking-room  stories  antedate  the 
introduction  of  the  weed  by  Sir  Walter  Raleigh. 

With  a  truly  prophetic  refinement  of  insight, 
the  Old  High  Germans  made  their  first  great 
humorous  rascal  an  Englishman  and  a  parson. 
As  the  result  of  a  wordy  dispute  with  his  bishop, 
Parson  Ameis  undertakes  to  teach  the  bishop's 
donkey  to  read,  so  that  that  dignitary  may  not 
pride  himself  too  much  on  his  erudition.  He 
hides  the  long-eared  student  in  a  cave,  half  starves 
him,  and  then  puts  before  him  a  book,  with  oats 
sprinkled  thinly  between  the  leaves.  The  ass 
eagerly  turns  them  over  with  his  soft  nose  and 
licks  up  the  oats.  After  a  while  the  bishop, 
anxious  to  know  how  his  rival  in  learning  is  getting 
on,  asks  Parson  Ameis  for  a  demonstration.  By 
that  time  the  ass  can  turn  the  pages  over  charm- 
ingly, and  the  bishop  goes  off  open-mouthed, 
persuaded  that  it  is  only  a  matter  of  time  before 
the  other  one  learns  Latin.  But  the  bishop 
fortunately  dies  before  the  time  is  up,  and  the 
education  of  the  ass  is  cut  short. 

Poverty  drives  Parson  Ameis  to  the  Continent 

283 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

in  search  of  a  fortune.  He  presently  finds  himself 
in  Paris,  and  determines  to  victimize  the  King  of 
France.  He  assures  that  monarch  that  he,  the  ad- 
venturer, is  such  a  painter  as  the  world  never  saw, 
and  gets  a  contract  to  adorn  a  great  hall  in  the  pal- 
ace. And,  with  solemn  knavery,  he  further  per- 
suades the  king  that  such  is  the  occult  virtue  of  his 
painting  that,  should  the  beholder  have  a  pedigree 
at  any  point  suspect  or  tinged  with  left-hand 
incidents,  the  picture  will  remain  for  him  wholly 
invisible.  So  the  king,  with  big,  round  eyes  of 
credulity,  fills  the  knave's  pockets  with  gold  and 
bids  him  paint  away.  The  knave  closes  the  hall, 
lies  cheerfully  on  his  back,  and  never  paints  a  line. 
When  the  king  comes,  after  a  month,  to  see  the 
painting,  the  parson  reminds  him  of  the  occult 
virtue  of  the  work  and  its  relation  to  damaged 
paternity;  and  the  king,  who,  very  naturally, 
sees  nothing  at  all,  blinks  like  a  solemn  owl  and 
avers  that  the  work  is  excellently  good.  Ameis 
points  out  this  detail  and  that  of  mountain  or 
tree  or  human  form,  of  the  bare,  white  wall,  and 
the  king  assents  and  praises,  fearful  of  the  possible 
slur  on  his  paternity  should  he  declare  that  he 
sees  nothing.  He,  in  his  turn,  describes  the  pic- 
tures to  his  gaping,  naught-seeing  courtiers,  who, 
for  a  like  reason,  eagerly  behold  what  is  not 
there,  till  at  last  a  blunt,  stupid  person  avers  that 
he  sees  nothing,  because  there  is  nothing  to  see, 
and  ruthlessly  adds  that  in  his  belief  neither  king 
nor  princes  see  anything  more  than  he  does. 
Whereat  the  whole  court  laughs  uproariously,  and 

284 


OLD  HIGH  GERMAN  JOKES 

Parson  Ameis  is  praised  for  a  witty  knave.  All 
of  which  is  unmarred  by  over-delicacy,  but  is 
rather  the  true  material  of  primitive  mirth. 

In  Lotharingia,  Parson  Ameis  had  another 
adventure.  He  declared  to  the  duke  that  he  was 
a  marvelous  healer,  so  that  all  diseases  yielded  to 
his  skill.  The  duke  offered  him  much  gold  if  he 
could  prove  his  skill,  and  turned  over  the  inmates 
of  the  hospital  to  his  care.  Thereupon  Parson 
Ameis  assembles  the  sick  and  wounded,  and 
makes  them  a  little  speech.  He  announces  that 
their  duke  has  intrusted  them  to  his  care,  and 
that  he  will  heal  them  all;  but  that,  to  do  this, 
he  must  take  that  one  among  them  who  is  ir- 
remediably ill,  put  him  out  of  his  misery,  bray 
his  bones  in  a  mortar,  and  therewith  make  a 
sovereign  ointment  for  the  healing  of  the  others. 
Thereupon,  the  unfortunate  folk  looked  at  one 
another  and  pondered.  Each  bethought  him  that, 
even  if  he  admitted  having  only  a  little  ailment, 
his  neighbor  might  own  to  none  at  all,  and  so  he, 
as  the  most  gravely  sick,  would  have  to  yield 
material  for  the  ointment.  Therefore,  with  one 
accord  they  began  to  assert  that  they  felt  better 
already,  were,  indeed,  so  decidedly  on  the  mend 
that  they  might  be  said  to  be  altogether  well. 
So  Parson  Ameis  stood  there  smiling,  listening 
to  their  testimony;  and  presently  he  sent  for  the 
duke,  reported  a  clean  bill  of  health,  pocketed  his 
money,  and  went  serenely  forth.  Such  is  the 
good  Briton  who  is  the  first  great  figure  in  German 
humor.  Many  more  adventures  he  had,  as  he 

285 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

swindled  and  tricked  his  way  throughout  all 
Europe,  until  finally  he  amassed  such  a  fortune 
as  enabled  him  to  settle  luxuriously  at  home  and 
to  end  his  days  in  an  odor  of  sanctity. 

Till  Eulenspiegel  is  just  such  another  knave, 
but  that  we  are  introduced  to  him  in  his  early 
childhood,  while  he  is  still  playing  the  pranks  that 
make  him  the  prototype  of  all  bad  boys.  Seventy 
adventures  and  more  are  accredited  to  him,  wild, 
boisterous,  hilarious,  as  he  wanders  throughout 
the  wide  German  world.  Of  these,  I  think  the 
wittiest  is  this.  Till  had  indulged  in  so  many 
stupid  pranks  that  folk  began  to  call  him  a  mani- 
fest fool.  He  took  a  keen  revenge.  Sedulously 
he  spread  the  rumor  that  he,  Till  Eulenspiegel, 
the  fool,  would,  on  a  certain  morning,  appear  at 
the  tower  window  and  fly  through  the  air  to  the 
ground.  The  good  townsfolk  came  gaping  thither, 
and,  sure  enough,  at  the  appointed  time  Till 
made  his  appearance  at  the  tower  window.  He 
looked  down  at  the  burghers,  and  they  gazed 
up  at  him.  Finally  Till  said,  "You  have  all 
come  here,  to  see  me  fly!  Yet  you  know  as  well 
as  I  do  that  I  can  no  more  fly  than  you  can. 
Judge,  then,  who  is  the  biggest  fool!" 

Here  is  another  tale,  from  a  book  of  the  same 
period.  Some  German  boors  were  traveling 
along  the  muddy  road  from  one  Old  High  German 
city  to  another.  At  nightfall  they  came  to  a 
wayside  inn,  and  asked  for  bed  and  board,  in- 
cluding ample  supplies  of  beer.  When  they  were 
properly  mellow,  they  decided  to  go  to  bed,  mine 

286 


OLD  HIGH  GERMAN  JOKES 

host  declaring  that  he  could  only  provide  one  bed 
for  every  two  of  them.  Then  one  fellow,  thinking 
to  be  funny,  declared  to  his  companion  that  he 
was  by  predilection  a  ball-player,  and,  further, 
that  he  was  given  to  nightmares,  during  which, 
believing  himself  to  be  playing  ball,  he  had  the 
bad  habit  of  striking  out  in  bed;  should  this 
happen,  and  should  he  accidentally  break  his  bed- 
fellow's nose,  he  craved  his  forgiveness  before- 
hand. 

The  other  nodded  and  hummed  and  promised. 
But  when  the  sleep-walking  ball-player  had 
drowsed  off,  his  companion  rose  quietly  and  put 
on  a  pair  of  spurs,  and  then  went  back  to  bed  again. 
Presently  the  ball-player  began  to  jerk  and  mutter 
in  his  sleep,  and  began  to  wave  his  arms,  finally 
landing  a  stiff  blow  on  his  companion's  face. 
The  latter  immediately  started  up,  jumped  on  the 
ball-player's  back,  dug  the  spurs  into  him,  and 
bade  him  canter.  When  the  ball-player  yelled 
his  expostulations,  the  other  begged  his  pardon 
and  explained  that  he  too  was  given  to  nightmare 
and  had  just  dreamed  that  his  companion  was  a 
horse.  So  everybody  laughed  uproariously  and 
ordered  more  beer. 

Here  is  another  yarn,  of  the  same  fiber.  Two 
boors  were  good  neighbors,  their  houses  side  by 
side,  and  on  a  certain  morning,  not  so  very  early, 
came  the  one  to  the  other's  window  and  rapped 
thereon  with  his  finger.  But  the  other  was  still 
lying  in  the  chimney-corner  behind  the  stove,  and 
did  not  want  to  get  up.  So.  when  his  neighbor 

287 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

rapped  on  the  window,  he  cried  out,  saying  with 
a  loud  voice: 

"Who  is  there?" 

The  one  who  was  outside  said,  "It  is  I,  neighbor 
Conrad;  what  are  you  doing?" 

The  first  said,  "I  am  in  bed,  still  sound  asleep. 
What  do  you  want,  neighbor?" 

The  one  at  the  window  said,  "If  you  had  not 
been  asleep,  I  wanted  to  borrow  your  wagon;  but 
I  will  come  back  again  after  you  wake." 

Such  simple-minded  boors,  says  the  narrator, 
are  hard  to  find.  And  he  goes  on  to  tell  a  tale  of 
another  boor,  simple  enough  in  his  way,  but  very 
far  from  being  a  fool.  In  a  certain  village,  he  says, 
there  were  bad,  rascally,  wicked  boors,  who 
often  in  the  beer-house  with  each  other  quarreled, 
and  with  base  words  to  each  other  the  lie  gave,  and 
too  often  beat  and  stabbed  each  other,  which  their 
parson  had  many  times  warned  them  against. 
But,  unfortunately,  it  helped  nothing. 

Once  on  a  Sunday,  when  the  good  parson  not 
much  had  studied,  and  to  his  boors  had  to  preach, 
he  began  again  their  base  words  to  narrate,  and 
said,  "Oh,  ye  are  unholy  boors!  I  have  you 
already  a  long  time  forbidden  to  curse  and  to 
swear,  to  call  one  another  liars,  to  quarrel  and  to 
brawl,  yet  the  longer  it  goes  the  wickeder  it  gets. 
You  call  one  another  with  blasphemous  words 
liars,  and  thereof  all  sorts  of  contention  and  bick- 
ering ariseth!  Now  be  it  so:  if  one  hears  the 
other  lie,  and  knows  manifestly  that  he  is  lying, 
let  him  not  him  a  liar  straightway  call,  but  much 

288 


OLD  HIGH  GERMAN  JOKES 

rather  let  him  gently  to  whistle  begin.  He  who 
has  lied  will  briefly,  remark  this  whistling,  and  from 
a  sense  of  remorse  and  confusion  will  hold  up  to 
lie.  Pfui!  What  you  do,  most  unseemly  ap- 
pears !" 

The  which  a  certain  profane  and  knavish  boor, 
who  was  in  the  church,  remarked.  But  then  the 
parson  let  go  his  preaching  and  began  of  the  crea- 
tion of  the  first  men  to  speak. 

"  Dearly  beloved  brethren,  the  Almighty,  as  He 
created  the  heaven  and  the  earth  and  found  that 
it  all  very  good  was,  determined  He  also  to  make 
men.  So  he  took  a  lump  of  clay  and  squeezed  it 
together,  and  formed,  as  it  were,  a  man  thereof, 
and,  having  formed  him,  set  him  up  against  the 
fence  to  dry." 

Which,  when  the  rascally  boor  aforesaid  heard, 
began  he  to  whistle  overloud,  which  the  parson, 
remarking,  said: 

"What,  boor,  you  mean  that  I  lie?" 

Whereupon  that  wicked  boor  answered,  "Oh  no, 
your  Reverence!  But  all  the  same,  who  made  the 
fence  before  the  first  man  was  created?" 

I  have  translated  this  as  literally  as  may  be, 
in  order  to  preserve  the  fine  Old  High  German 
flavor.  I  will  now  relapse  into  the  vernacular, 
and  tell  another  tale. 

In  a  certain  village  near  Leipzig  lived  a  widow, 
well  blessed  with  this  world's  goods  and  possessed 
of  riches  in  plenty.  To  her  many  good  widowers 
came  as  suppliants,  asking  for  her  hand  and 
offering  to  take  care  of  her  goods.  But  she  would 

289 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

not.  No  saddle  suited  her,  and  she  chose  rather 
to  remain  master  in  her  own  house,  unwilling  to 
submit  her  will  to  any  man.  To  the  which  village 
came  a  certain  young  man,  very  fine  and  clever 
and  beautiful,  who,  hearing  much  of  the  good 
widow  and  her  possessions,  determined  to  set  his 
cap  at  her,  and  if  so  it  might  be,  wed  her  and  make 
her  his.  So  he  wooed  her  with  right  good  will  and 
gentle  art,  and  at  last  began  to  be  pleasing  in  her 
sight,  so  that  she  smiled  when  she  met  him  in  the 
market-place  or  at  church,  or  wherever  it  might 
be.  Well,  the  thing  went  so  that  he  offered 
himself  to  her;  and  they  were  wedded,  although  all 
her  gossips  dissuaded  her  and  said  it  would  surely 
turn  out  ill. 

After  the  wedding,  for  the  first  while  he  was 
good,  obedient,  quiet,  keeping  good  care  of  his 
own  house  and  following  the  old  wife  from 
chamber  to  chamber,  until  he  had  learned  where 
all  her  treasures  were  kept.  But  then  he  began 
to  go  astray,  lingering  long  at  the  beer-house, 
drinking  much,  and  often  bringing  boon  com- 
panions home  with  him  to  drink  and  roister  and 
make  merry  till  the  clock  struck  midnight. 

The  which  the  good  wife  remarking,  she  de- 
termined on  guile,  and,  binding  a  towel  about  her 
head,  laid  her  on  the  sofa  and  began  mournfully 
to  groan.  Whereupon,  her  man,  entering  with 
his  boon  companions,  asked  her  what  was  ill  with 
her;  and  she  said  that  her  head  gave  her  much 
woe  and  was  full  of  sore  pains.  At  that,  in  well- 
feigned  anger  tearing  the  towel  from  her  head, 

290 


OLD  HIGH  GERMAN  JOKES 

he  began  to  thump  her  on  the  brow,  crying,  "O 
wicked  and  shameless  head,  thus  to  torment  my 
dear,  tender  wife!  But  I  shall  beat  thee  until 
thou  ceasest,  therefore  take  that,  and  that, 
and  that!" 

So  vigorously  did  he  beat  her  that  she  was  fain 
to  cry  peace,  saying  that  the  head  no  longer  hurt 
her,  but  that  she  was  well. 

"Then,  up,  good  wife,  sit  with  us,  make  merry, 
and  drink  wine!"  cried  he,  unashamed.  "And  if 
that  evil  head  bethink  again  to  hurt  thee,  I  will 
of  a  truth  beat  it  even  more!" 


XXIV 

BARON  MUNCHAUSEN  AND  AFTER 

THE  funniest  thing  about  Baron  Munchausen's 
preposterous  yarns  is  that  the  good  baron 
was  an  entirely  real  person,  and  really  told  those 
yarns  or  others  like  them.  Born  on  May  11, 
1720,  on  his  father's  estate  of  Bodenwerder,  near 
Hanover,  the  mendacious  baby  was  christened 
Karl  Friedrich  Hieronymus,  with  the  style  and 
title  of  Freiherr  von  Mlinchhausen.  In  his  boy- 
hood he  served  as  a  page  of  Prince  Anton  Ulrich 
of  Brunswick,  thereafter  obtaining  a  coronetcy  in 
the  "  Brunswick  Regiment'7  in  the  Russian  service, 
and,  on  November  27,  1740,  the  Russian  Empress 
Anna  gave  him  a  lieutenant's  commission  and 
sent  him  south  to  fight  against  the  Turks.  Ten 
years  later  he  had  risen  to  be  a  captain  of  cuiras- 
siers under  the  Empress  Elizabeth,  and  in  1760 
he  retired  from  the  Russian  service  and  settled 
down  on  his  paternal  estate  of  Bodenwerder. 
There,  in  part  to  entertain  his  friends,  in  part 
to  defend  himself  against  the  shooting  stories  of 
his  gamekeeper,  he  spun  his  yarns.  He  spoke 
as  a  man  of  the  world,  naturally,  simply,  taking 
it  for  granted  that  he  was  relating  mere  matters 

292 


BARON  MUNCHAUSEN  AND  AFTER 

of  fact,  never  laughing  or  even  smiling  at  his  own 
jokes.  Among  the  guests  at  his  table  who  heard 
them  was  a  certain  Rudolph  Erich  Raspe,  also  a 
Hanoverian,  and  a  man  of  much  curious  learning. 
Raspe  pilfered  medals  from  a  museum,  fled  to 
England,  was  very  hard  up,  and  bethought  him  to 
earn  an  honest  guinea  or  two  by  writing  down 
some  of  his  host's  tales,  no  doubt  with  embellish- 
ments of  his  own.  But  at  first  the  book  was  no 
more  than  an  exaggerated  account  of  the  baron's 
yarns  concerning  his  stay  in  Russia,  as  its  title 
showed.  It  only  ran  to  about  forty  pages,  in- 
cluding chapters  two  to  six  of  the  present  editions; 
all  the  rest  is  apocryphal. 

The  kernel  of  the  narrative  sticks  close  to  the 
real  events  of  the  baron's  life — for  example,  this 
beautiful  tale: 

"  After  my  arrival  at  St.  Petersburg,  it  was 
some  time  before  I  could  obtain  a  commission  in 
the  army,  and  for  several  months  I  was  perfectly 
at  liberty  to  sport  away  my  time  and  money  in 
the  most  gentlemanlike  manner.  You  may  easily 
imagine  that  I  spent  much  of  both  out  of  town  with 
such  gallant  fellows  as  knew  how  to  make  the  most 
of  an  open  forest  country.  The  very  recollection 
of  those  amusements  gives  me  fresh  spirits  and 
creates  a  warm  wish  for  a  repetition  of  them.  One 
morning  I  saw,  through  the  windows  of  my  bed- 
room, that  a  large  pond  not  far  off  was  crowded 
with  wild  ducks.  In  an  instant  I  took  my  gun 
from  the  corner,  ran  down-stairs  and  out  of  the 
house  in  such  a  hurry  that  I  imprudently  struck 

293 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

my  face  against  the  door-post.  Fire  flew  out  of 
my  eyes,  but  it  did  not  prevent  my  intention; 
I  soon  came  within  shot,  when,  leveling  my 
piece,  I  observed,  to  my  sorrow,  that  even  the 
flint  had  sprung  from  the  cock  by  the  violence  of 
the  shock  I  had  just  received.  There  was  no 
time  to  be  lost.  I  presently  remembered  the  effect 
it  had  on  my  eyes,  therefore  opened  the  pan, 
leveled  my  piece  against  the  wild  fowls  and 
my  fist  against  one  of  my  eyes.  [The  baron's 
eyes  have  retained  fire  ever  since,,  and  appear 
particularly  illuminated  when  he  narrates  this 
anecdote.]  A  hearty  blow  drew  sparks  again; 
the  shot  went  off,  and  I  killed  fifty  brace  of  ducks, 
twenty  widgeons,  and  three  couple  of  teals. 

" Presence  of  mind,"  went  on  the  baron,  "is 
the  soul  of  manly  exercises.  If  soldiers  and  sailors 
owe  to  it  many  of  their  lucky  escapes,  hunters 
and  sportsmen  are  not  less  beholden  to  it  for  many 
of  their  successes.  In  a  noble  forest  in  Russia 
I  met  a  fine  black  fox,  whose  valuable  skin  it 
would  be  a  pity  to  tear  by  ball  or  shot.  Reynard 
stood  close  to  a  tree.  In  a  twinkling  I  took  out 
my  ball,  and  placed  a  good  spike-nail  in  its  room, 
and  hit  him  so  cleverly  that  I  nailed  his  brush  fast 
to  the  tree.  I  now  went  up  to  him,  took  out  my 
hanger,  gave  him  a  cross-cut  over  the  face;  I  laid 
hold  of  my  whip,  and  fairly  flogged  him  out  of  his 
fine  skin. 

"Chance  and  good  luck  often  correct  our  mis- 
takes; of  this  I  had  a  singular  instance  soon  after, 
when,  in  the  depth  of  a  forest,  I  saw  a  wild  pig  and 

294 


BARON  MUNCHAUSEN  AND  AFTER 

sow  running  close  behind  each  other.  My  ball 
had  missed  them,  yet  the  foremost  pig  only  ran 
away,  and  the  sow  stood  motionless,  as  if  fixed  to 
the  ground.  On  examining  into  the  matter,  I 
found  the  latter  one  to  be  an  old  sow,  blind  with 
age,  which  had  taken  hold  of  her  pig's  tail  in 
order  to  be  led  along  by  filial  duty.  My  ball, 
having  passed  between  the  two,  had  cut  his  lead- 
ing-string, which  the  old  sow  continued  to  hold  in 
her  mouth;  and,  as  her  former  guide  did  not  draw 
her  on  any  longer,  she  had  stopped,  of  course;  I, 
therefore,  laid  hold  of  the  remaining  end  of  the 
pig's  tail,  and  led  the  old  beast  home  without  any 
further  trouble  on  my  part,  and  without  any  re- 
luctance or  apprehension  on  the  part  of  the  help- 
less old  animal. 

"  Terrible  as  these  wild  sows  are,  yet  more  fierce 
and  dangerous  are  the  boars,  one  of  which  I  had 
once  the  misfortune  to  meet  in  a  forest,  unpre- 
pared for  attack  or  defense.  I  retired  behind  an 
oak-tree  just  when  the  furious  animal  leveled  a 
side  blow  at  me  with  such  force  that  his  tusks 
pierced  through  the  tree,  by  which  means  he  could 
neither  repeat  the  blow  nor  retire.  'Ho,  hoP 
thought  I.  'I  shall  soon  have  you  now!'  And  im- 
mediately I  laid  hold  of  a  stone  and  bent  his  tusks 
in  such  a  manner  that  he  could  not  retreat  by  any 
means,  and  must  wait  my  return  from  the  next 
village,  whither  I  went  for  ropes  and  a  cart  to 
secure  him  properly  and  to  carry  him  off  safe 
and  alive,  in  which  I  perfectly  succeeded." 

"We  took  the  field,"  said  the  good  baron  on 

20  295 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

another  occasion,  "  among  other  reasons,  it  seems, 
with  an  intention  to  retrieve  the  character  of  the 
Russian  arms,  which  had  been  blemished  a  little  by 
Tsar  Peter's  last  campaign  on  the  Pruth;  and  this 
we  fully  accomplished  by  several  very  fatiguing 
and  glorious  campaigns  under  the  command  of 
Count  Munich.  We  had  very  hot  work  once  in 
the  van  of  the  army,  when  we  drove  the  Turks  into 
Oczakow.  The  swiftness  of  my  Lithuanian  steed 
enabled  me  to  be  foremost  in  the  pursuit;  and 
seeing  the  enemy  fairly  flying  through  the  op- 
posite gate,  I  thought  it  would  be  prudent  to  stop 
in  the  market-place  to  order  the  men  to  rendez- 
vous. I  had  stopped,  gentlemen;  but  judge  of  my 
astonishment  when  in  this  market-place  I  saw  not 
one  of  my  hussars  about  me!  Are  they  scouring 
the  other  streets,  or  what  has  become  of  them? 
They  could  not  be  far  off,  and  must,  at  all  events, 
soon  join  me.  In  that  expectation  I  walked  my 
panting  Lithuanian  to  a  spring  in  this  market- 
place, and  let  him  drink.  He  drank  uncommonly, 
with  an  eagerness  not  to  be  satisfied,  but  natural 
enough;  for  when  I  looked  round  for  my  men, 
what  should  I  see,  gentlemen!  The  hind  part  of 
the  poor  creature — croup  and  legs  were  missing, 
as  if  he  had  been  cut  in  two,  and  the  water  ran 
out  as  it  came  in,  without  refreshing  or  doing  him 
any  good!  How  it  could  have  happened  was  quite 
a  mystery  to  me,  till  I  returned  with  him  to  the 
town  gate.  There  I  saw  that  when  I  rushed  in 
pell-mell  with  the  flying  enemy,  they  had  dropped 
the  portcullis  (a  heavy  falling  door,  with  sharp 

296 


BARON  MUNCHAUSEN  AND  AFTER 

spikes  at  the  bottom,  let  down  suddenly  to  pre- 
vent the  entrance  of  an  enemy  into  a  fortified 
town)  unperceived  by  me,  which  had  totally  cut 
off  his  hind  part,  that  still  lay  quivering  on  the 
outside  of  the  gate.  It  would  have  been  an  ir- 
reparable loss,  had  not  our  farrier  contrived  to 
bring  both  parts  together  while  hot.  He  sewed 
them  up  with  sprigs  and  young  shoots  of  laurels 
that  were  at  hand;  the  wound  healed,  and,  what 
could  not  have  happened  but  to  so  glorious  a  horse, 
the  sprigs  took  root  in  his  body,  grew  up,  and 
formed  a  bower  over  me;  so  that  afterward  I 
could  go  upon  many  other  expeditions  in  the  shade 
of  my  own  and  my  horse's  laurels." 

Such  is  the  genuine  Baron  Munchausen,  mere 
decorative  embroidery  on  the  real  campaigns  and 
exploits  of  an  authentic  warrior  and  campaigner 
in  Russia.  All  but  some  forty  pages  in  our  latter- 
day  editions  is  apocryphal;  or,  let  us  say,  the  green 
shoots  of  mendacity  twined  by  the  first  baron 
have  sprouted  and  grown  into  a  portentous  bower 
above  his  head. 

Here  is  a  pretty  piece  of  nineteenth-century 
humor  from  Germany,  entitled,  "The  Sad  Tale  of 
Seven  Kisses": 

"It  is  quite  a  while  ago,  I  think/'  says  the 
narrator,  "since  one  day  the  dear  God  called 
the  angel  Gabriel  to  Him,  as  He  often  does,  and 
said,  'Thou,  Gabriel,  go  and  open  the  slide  and 
look  down!  Methinks  I  hear  crying!' 

"Gabriel  went  and  did  as  the  dear  God  said, 
put  his  hand  up  to  his  eyes  because  the  sunlight 

297 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

dazzled  him,  looked  all  around,  and  finally  said, 
'Down  there  is  a  long  green  meadow;  at  one 
end  sits  Barbelie  pasturing  her  geese,  at  the  other 
sits  Christoph  pasturing  his  pigs,  and  both  are 
weeping  to  melt  a  heart  of  stone/ 

"  'Indeed/  said  the  dear  God;  'get  out  of  the 
way,  you  big  fellow,  and  let  Me  look!' 

"When  He  had  looked,  He  saw  that  it  was  just 
as  Gabriel  had  said. 

"And  this  is  how  it  was  that  Christoph  and 
Barbelie  were  weeping  so  pitifully:  Christoph 
and  Barbelie  loved  each  other  dearly;  one  of  them 
took  care  of  the  geese  and  the  other  took  care  of 
the  pigs,  and  so  it  was  a  very  suitable  match, 
there  being  no  disparity  of  rank.  They  made  up 
their  minds  to  be  married,  and  they  thought  that 
being  fond  of  each  other  was  a  good  enough 
reason.  But  here  their  employers  disagreed,  and 
so  they  had  to  be  content  with  being  betrothed. 
Now,  as  it  is  well  to  be  methodical  in  all  things, 
and  as  kissing  plays  an  important  part  in  be- 
trothals, they  had  made  an  agreement  that  seven 
kisses  in  the  morning  and  seven  kisses  more  in  the 
evening  would  be  quite  the  proper  thing.  For  a 
while  all  went  well,  the  seven  kisses  being  given 
and  received  at  the  appointed  time.  But  on  the 
morning  of  the  day  when  this  story  happened,  it 
came  about  that,  just  as  the  seventh  kiss  was 
coming  around,  Barbelie' s  pet  goose  and  Chris- 
toph's  pet  pig  had  a  falling-out  over  their  break- 
fast, threatening  to  end  in  a  riot.  To  settle  the 
difficulty  it  was  necessary  for  the  lovers  to  stop 

298 


BARON  MUNCHAUSEN  AND  AFTER 

short  of  the  proper  number  of  kisses.  Later, 
when  they  were  sitting  far  apart  at  opposite  ends 
of  the  meadow,  it  occurred  to  them  how  very  sad 
a  thing  this  was;  and  they  both  began  to  weep, 
and  were  still  weeping  when  the  dear  God  looked 
down. 

"The  dear  God  thought  at  first  that  their  sorrow 
would  subside  of  itself;  but  when  the  sound  of 
weeping  waxed  louder  and  louder  and  Christoph' s 
pet  pig  and  Barbelie's  pet  goose  began  to  grow 
sad  from  sympathy  and  to  make  woebegone  faces, 
He  said:  'I  will  help  them!  Whatever  they  wish 
for  to-day  shall  come  true/ 

"But  as  it  was  the  two  had  but  one  thought,  to 
complete  the  tale  of  kisses;  and  as  each  gazed 
in  the  direction  where  the  other  sat  and  neither 
could  see  the  other,  for  the  meadow  was  long  and 
there  were  bushes  in  the  middle,  Christoph  kept 
thinking,  'If  I  were  but  over  where  the  geese 
are!'  and  Barbelie  kept  sighing,  'Oh,  could  I  but 
be  near  the  pigs!7 

"All  at  once  Christoph  found  himself  sitting 
by  the  geese,  and  Barbelie  found  herself  beside 
the  pigs;  but  they  were  no  nearer  to  each  other 
than  before,  and  there  was  no  possibility  of  making 
up  the  missing  number. 

"Then  Christoph  thought,  'Very  likely,  Barbelie 
wished  to  pay  me  a  little  visit ' ;  and  Barbelie 
thought,  'No  doubt,  Christoph  has  gone  to  look 
for  me!7  and  then  again  they  began  to  wish, 
'Oh,  if  I  could  but  be  with  my  geese!'  and  'Oh, 
if  I  could  but  be  with  my  pigs!' 

299 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

"In  a  moment  Barbelie  was  once  more  sitting 
beside  her  geese  and  Christoph  was  back  with 
his  pigs;  and  so  it  went  on  all  day,  turn  and  turn 
about,  because  they  always  wished  themselves 
past  each  other.  And  so  to  this  day  they  are 
short  of  that  seventh  kiss.  Christoph,  to  be  sure, 
was  all  for  making  it  up  in  the  evening,  when  they 
both  came  home  tired  to  death  by  all  their  wishing ; 
but  Barbelie  assured  him  that  it  would  not  do  a 
bit  of  good,  and  that  there  was  no  possibility  of 
putting  the  number  right  again. 

"And  when  the  dear  God  saw  how  the  two  had 
been  wishing  themselves  away  from  each  other, 
He  said,  'Well,  this  is  a  nice  muddle!  But  what 
I  have  once  said,  I  have  said!  There  is  no  help 
for  it.' 

"So  He  made  up  His  mind  then  and  there  that 
He  would  never  grant  lovers'  wishes  rashly  in 
future,  before  finding  out  exactly  what  they 
wanted." 

We  have  all  seen  pictures  of  the  snuffy,  stuffy 
German  professor,  famous  for  his  absent-minded- 
ness. A  cheerful  person  has  collected  a  number 
of  involuntary  jokes,  which  he  lays  to  the  charge 
of  the  said  "Herr  Professor."  I  cull  a  few,  giving 
them  on  his  authority  rather  than  my  own: 

"Alexander  the  Great,"  said  the  Herr  Professor, 
"was  poisoned  twenty-one  years  before  his  death. 
The  death  of  Alexander  was  felt  by  all  Asia,  but 
not  until  after  his  death." 

"Brutus  and  Cassius  murdered  Julius  Caesar 
in  a  manner  very  detrimental  to  his  health. 

300 


BARON  MUNCHAUSEN  AND  AFTER 

Gallus  was  murdered  in  the  presence  of  the 
populace,  and  he  met  the  same  fate  once  more  at 
the  hands  of  an  assassin." 

"  Tacitus  says  that  the  ancient  Germans  were  as 
tall  as  the  Kaiser's  body-guard.  The  Cimbrians 
and  the  Teutons  were  descended  from  each 
other." 

Turning  from  classical  times  to  English  history, 
the  Herr  Professor  announced  that  King  Richard 
III.  murdered  all  his  successors.  And  he  added 
that,  after  the  execution  of  Mary,  Queen  of  Scots, 
Queen  Elizabeth  appeared  in  Parliament  with  a 
handkerchief  in  one  hand  and  a  tear  in  the  other. 
In  the  field  of  general  European  history,  the  Herr 
Professor  declared  that  Gustavus  Adolphus,  King 
of  Sweden,  lived  until  shortly  before  his  death, 
and  that  Stanislaus  was  not  yet  in  existence  when 
his  father  was  born.  He  further  said  that  the 
Russian  general  Suvoroff  marched  at  so  rapid  a 
pace  with  his  army  that  neither  the  infantry  nor 
the  cavalry  nor  the  artillery  could  keep  up  with 
him;  and  that  the  Polish  army  was  beaten  by 
Suvoroff  because  it  ran  away  and  fled. 

Then,  turning  to  geography,  the  Herr  Professor 
thus  relieved  his  mind  of  its  encumbering  wisdom. 
"The  sources  of  the  Nile/'  he  said,  "are  much 
farther  south  than  where  the  explorer  Bruce  dis- 
covered them."  And  he  added  that,  in  South 
Africa,  the  eyesight  of  the  Hottentots  is  so  well 
developed  that  they  can  hear  the  tramp  of  a  horse 
at  an  incredible  distance.  North  America,  he 
went  on  to  say,  consists  of  a  great  number  of  large 

301 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

and  small  islands,  very  few  of  which  are  sur- 
rounded by  water;  and  he  affirmed  that,  when 
Humboldt  ascended  Mount  Chimborazo,  he  found 
the  air  so  thin  that  he  could  not  read  without 
glasses.  Finally,  inspired,  perhaps,  by  uncon- 
scious political  feeling,  the  Herr  Professor  an- 
nounced that  there  would  be  much  less  leather 
produced  by  the  English  if  they  tanned  only  their 
own  hides. 


XXV 

SCANDINAVIAN   FUNNY   STOKIES 

ONE  of  the  funniest  stories  from  the  land  of  the 
fiords  is  an  ancient  tale  whose  purpose  is  to  il- 
lustrate the  mental  levity  of  women.  I  imagine 
that,  in  these  days  of  feminism  and  enlighten- 
ment, it  has  been  suppressed  by  the  Storthing; 
but  I  have  captured  a  copy,  and,  at  some  personal 
risk,  I  now  make  it  public.  This  tale  relates  that 
there  was  a  certain  man  named  Jacob,  whose  wife, 
Alida,  was  blessed  with  a  plentiful  lack  of  wits. 
They  had  some  marketing  to  do,  and,  as  Jacob 
was  busy,  Alida  said  she  would  go.  So  Jacob 
told  her,  "Mind  well,  goodwife,  you  are  to  sell 
the  cow  and  the  hen;  the  cow  for  fifty  crowns  and 
the  hen  for  fifty  pence,  and,  mind  you,  not  a  penny 
less!" 

So  Alida  went  along  the  road  to  market,  carrying 
the  hen  and  driving  the  cow;  and  as  she  went 
she  kept  saying  to  herself,  "The  cow  and  the  hen, 
the  cow  and  the  hen;  fifty  crowns  and  fifty  pence; 
the  cow  and  the  hen."  And  presently,  from  saying 
it  too  often,  she  got  confused,  and  said,  "Fifty 
pence  and  fifty  crowns  for  the  cow  and  the  hen." 
And  then  she  began  to  say,  "Fifty  pence  for  the 
cow,  and  fifty  crowns  for  the  hen." 

303 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

The  butcher  was  going  along  the  road,  and  he 
heard  her  and  said  he  would  take  the  cow  at  her 
price,  and  so  he  gave  her  the  fifty  pence  and  took 
the  cow,  and  the  goodwife  went  on  to  market 
with  the  hen.  But  when  she  came  to  the  market 
nobody  would  give  her  fifty  crowns  for  the  hen, 
so  she  was  sorrowful.  And  at  last  she  went  to 
the  butcher  and  told  him,  as  he  had  taken  the 
cow,  he  should  take  the  hen,  too.  So  he  said  he 
would  see  about  it,  and  asked  her  to  come  in,  and 
put  food  of  the  best  before  her  and  gave  her 
strong  waters  to  drink,  so  that  presently  the  good- 
wife  was  snoring.  Then  he  daubed  her  with  tar 
and  rolled  her  in  feathers  and  set  her  out  on  the 
roadside.  When  she  awoke,  it  was  the  chill  of  the 
morning,  and  she  rubbed  her  eyes  and  looked  for 
the  fifty  crowns  she  was  to  get  for  the  cow  and  the 
fifty  pence  she  was  to  get  for  the  hen;  but  she  could 
find  none  of  it,  but  only  the  feathers,  all  over  her, 
where  the  butcher  had  daubed  her. 

Well,  the  goodwife  was  perplexed.  "Am  I 
me/7  she  said,  "or  am  I  not  me?  And  if  I'm  not 
me,  then  who  can  I  be?"  So  she  thought  perhaps 
she  was  a  big  bird,  and  not  herself  at  all.  "Well," 
she  said,  "I'll  go  home,  and  if  the  dog  licks  my 
hand,  then  I  am  me;  but  if  he  barks  at  me,  then 
I  am  a  bird,  and  not  me  at  all." 

So  she  went  home,  and  indeed  the  dog  began 
to  bark  and  to  howl;  so  she  knew  she  was  a  bird, 
and  not  herself  at  all;  so  she  must  go  up  on  the 
roof  and  try  to  fly.  The  goodman  saw  her,  and, 
indeed,  he  too  thought  she  was  a  bird,  and  got  his 

304 


SCANDINAVIAN  FUNNY  STORIES 

gun,  and  would  have  shot  at  her;  but  she  cried 
out,  "Oh,  goodman,  don't  shoot  me,  even  if  I'm 
somebody  else!"  So  he  came  up  on  the  roof, 
and  she  told  him  all  that  had  happened.  Then  the 
goodman  spat  and  swore,  so  disheartened  was  he, 
and  he  said  he  would  take  all,  whatever  money 
he  had  in  the  house,  and  go  forth,  and  never  return 
until  he  had  found  three  women  who  were  as 
big  fools  as  his  wife.  Then  he  would  return. 

So  he  took  what  he  could  take  and  went.  And 
as  he  went  along  the  road,  lo  and  behold,  there 
was  a  new  house  built  by  the  roadside  and  a 
woman  running  in  and  out  of  it.  She  had  a  sieve 
in  her  hand,  and  she  would  come  out,  and  then 
whip  her  apron  over  the  sieve,  and  then  run  back 
again  into  the  house.  So  Jacob  watched  her,  and 
then  he  asked  her  what  she  was  doing. 

"I  am  trying,"  she  said,  "to  catch  some  sun- 
shine to  take  it  into  my  house;  for  my  house  is 
dark  for  lack  of  sunshine.  In  my  old  hut  there 
was  plenty,  but  in  my  new  house,  for  all  it  is  fine 
and  beautiful,  there  is  no  sunshine.  And,  indeed, 
I  would  give  a  hundred  crowns  to  the  man  that 
would  bring  me  in  some  sunshine!" 

Then  Jacob  looked  at  her  and  raised  his  eye- 
brows. Then  he  thought,  and  said  to  the  woman : 

"Goodwife,  if  you  give  me  an  ax,  I'll  bring  you 
some  sunshine." 

So  she  got  him  an  ax,  and  he  cut  windows  in 
her  house,  till  the  sun  streamed  in,  for  the  builder 
had  forgotten  them.  And  the  good  woman  was 
joyful,  and  clapped  her  hands,  and  gave  him  a 

305 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

i 

kiss,  which  he  liked,  and  the  hundred  crowns, 
which  he  liked  still  more. 

" There's  one!"  he  cried,  and  went  on  along  the 
road.  And  it  was  not  long  till  he  came  to  a  place 
where  there  was  a  terrible  yelling  and  howling; 
and  he  saw  a  woman  with  a  club,  such  as  washer- 
women use  to  beat  the  linen  at  the  stream,  and 
there  was  a  man  there,  with  his  head  covered,  and 
she  was  beating  him  over  the  head  and  he  was 
yelling  and  crying  out  that  she  was  murdering 
him. 

So  Jacob  went  up  and  stopped  her.  "What 
are  you  doing?"  said  he. 

"  Trying  to  get  my  goodman's  shirt  on,"  said 
she.  "I've  sewn  him  a  new  shirt,  but  he  can't 
get  his  head  through  it,  and  so  I'm  trying  to  drive 
it  through  with  a  club." 

And  Jacob  looked,  and,  sure  enough,  the  goodwife 
had  forgotten  to  put  any  neck  in  the  shirt,  so  her 
goodman  could  not  get  his  head  through.  And 
both  of  them  were  crying,  she  for  despite  and  he 
for  the  beating  she  had  given  him  trying  to  put 
on  the  shirt. 

"I  would  give  a  hundred  crowns,"  cried  the 
goodwife,  "if  any  one  would  show  me  how  to  put 
on  the  shirt." 

So  Jacob  said  he  would  do  it,  and  he  took  the 
shears  and  cut  a  slit  in  the  shirt  for  the  neck,  and 
so  it  went  on  easily  enough.  And  the  goodwife 
laughed  and  rejoiced  and  gave  him  the  hundred 
crowns.  But  the  goodman  only  rubbed  his  head 
and  blinked  his  eyes. 

306 


SCANDINAVIAN  FUNNY  STORIES 

"That  makes  two!"  said  Jacob,  and  went  on  his 
way.  And  presently  he  came  to  a  house  and 
went  in;  and  the  old  woman  was  deaf,  so  that  she 
could  not  well  hear  what  he  said. 

"Where  are  you  from?"  asked  she. 

"I  am  from  Elverum,"  said  he. 

"From  heaven?"  said  she,  not  rightly  hearing 
him.  "Then  you  may  have  met  my  husband 
Peter — the  second,  I  mean,  for  I  have  been  married 
three  times,  and  each  of  my  men  has  been  called 
Peter  to  his  name.  The  first  beat  me,  so  he  doesn't 
count;  the  third  is  still  alive,  so  he  doesn't  count; 
so  I  am  asking  about  the  second,  who  was  a  good 
man  and  surely  went  up." 

Jacob  thought  awhile  and  laughed  in  his  sleeve, 
for  all  that  he  was  disheartened  to  find  a  woman 
so  foolish.  Yes,  he  said,  he  came  from  heaven, 
but  he  could  not  rightly  say  whether  the  Peter  he 
knew  there  was  her  husband  or  not.  But  he  was 
soon  going  back  again,  and  would  find  out.  The 
man  he  knew  in  heaven  was  a  good  man,  but 
poor,  with  never  a  stitch  to  his  back  nor  a  silver 
crown  in  his  pouch,  but  a  good  man  and  kindly, 
withal.  Then  the  old  woman  began  a-weeping 
and  a-wailing,  and  said  that  was  the  living  de- 
scription of  her  own  lost  Peter,  not  counting  the 
first  one,  who  was  bad  and  had  gone  elsewhere; 
and  would  he  kindly  take  her  Peter  something 
when  he  went  back? 

Yes,  he  would.  And  so  the  old  woman  went  up 
to  the  garret  and  gathered  good  clothes  that  her 
Peter  had  left,  and  a  box  of  silver  for  him,  and  gave 

307 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

them  to  Jacob,  with  a  cart  to  carry  them  and  a 
horse  to  draw  the  cart.  So  he  went  away  again, 
toward  his  home.  "That  makes  three!"  he  said, 
as  he  laughed  in  his  sleeve,  even  though  he  was 
disheartened  at  the  foolishness  of  women. 

Then  the  third  husband,  he  that  was  still 
living  and  was  also  Peter,  saw  a  man  driving  his 
cart  away,  and  ran  into  the  house  and  asked  the 
old  wife  what  it  was.  So  she  told  him  that  he  was 
taking  the  things  back  to  heaven  for  her  second 
man.  Then  the  third  Peter  was  wroth,  and  took 
his  horse  and  pursued.  But  Jacob,  hearing  him, 
turned  into  the  wood,  and  hid  the  horse  and  cart. 
And  he  plucked  a  wisp  of  hair  from  the  horse's 
tail  and  stuck  it  in  a  birch-tree  on  a  hillock  in 
the  wood. 

No  sooner  was  this  done  than  the  third  Peter 
was  after  him;  and  he  found  Jacob  lying  flat  on 
his  back  and  gazing  up  into  the  sky.  "There  it 
goes,"  says  Jacob,  "the  horse  and  the  cart,  up 
through  the  clouds  to  the  door  of  heaven."  And 
with  that  he  showed  the  horse-hair  on  the  birch, 
where  the  cart  and  horse  had  passed  on  their 
way  upward.  And  Peter  the  third  was  much 
astounded,  and  he,  too,  would  see.  So  Jacob  bade 
him  also  lie  on  his  back  and  look  up  steadily  till 
his  eyes  got  used  to  it  and  he  saw  the  horse  and 
cart  in  the  clouds. 

So  there  he  lay,  and  Jacob  was  off  with  the  cart 
and  the  horse,  and  he  took,  too,  thejiorse  that  Peter 
had  come  on  galloping  after  him.  And  when  he 
came  home  he  was  well  content,  for  had  he  not  the 

308 


SCANDINAVIAN  FUNNY  STORIES 

two  horses  and  the  cart  and  two  hundred  crowns 
and  the  clothes  for  Peter  that  was  in  heaven? 
And  as  he  came  to  the  house  he  saw  the  field  was 
plowed;  so  he  asked  his  wife,  Alida,  what  that 
meant. 

" I  have  always  heard/7  said  she,  "that  what  you 
sow  you  reap,  with  good  measure  added.  So  I 
have  had  the  field  plowed,  and  have  sown  salt  in 
it,  and  if  only  we  have  rain  enough  I  expect  to 
reap  many  a  bushel. " 

Then  Jacob  was  angry  and  disheartened  at  her 
foolishness.  "But,"  said  he,  "there  is  no  help 
for  it,  since  all  womankind  are  even  such  as 
you." 

Here  is  another  tale,  about  an  animal  with  no 
tail,  to  wit,  Brother  Rabbit;  a  tale  which  might 
well  have  come  from  Georgia  and  Uncle  Remus, 
but  which  has  come,  in  fact,  from  the  land  of  the 
Vikings. 

Once  on  a  time,  says  the  tale,  there  was  a  rabbit 
who  was  frisking  up  and  down  under  the  green- 
wood tree.  "Hooray!  Hooray!"  he  cried,  "Hip, 
hip,  hooray!"  and  he  leaped  and  sprang,  and  then 
threw  a  somersault  and  stood  on  his  hind  legs. 

Just  then  Brother  Fox  came  slipping  by. 

"Good  day,  good  day,  Brother  Fox!"  cried  the 
rabbit.  "I  am  so  merry,  for  you  must  know  I 
was  married  this  morning!" 

"Lucky  fellow,  you!"  said  Brother  Fox. 

"Not  so  lucky,  after  all,"  said  the  rabbit,  "for 
she  is  too  ready  with  her  fists;  a  regular  old  witch 
I  got  to  wife!" 

309 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

"Unlucky  you  are/'  said  the  fox. 

"Oh,  not  so  unlucky  either,"  said  the  rabbit, 
and  he  danced  again;  "for  she  was  an  heiress;  she 
had  a  house  of  her  own." 

"Why,  then,  you  are  lucky,  after  all,"  said  the 
fox. 

"Well,  no,  not  so  very  lucky,"  said  the  rabbit, 
"for  the  house  caught  fire  and  was  burned  up, 
and  with  it  everything  we  possessed." 

"Why,  then,  you  are  unlucky!"  said  the  fox. 

"Oh,  not  so  unlucky,"  said  the  rabbit,  "for  my 
witch  of  a  wife  was  burned  up,  too!" 

In  the  Scandinavian  tongues  there  are  many 
good  tales  of  the  youngest  son,  who,  against  all 
handicaps  of  age  and  ill-favor,  rubs  it  all  over  his 
elder  brothers.  He  is  a  kind  of  masculine  Cinde- 
rella, and  has  Cinderella's  astonishing  luck,  too. 
Generally,  his  good-fortune  turns  on  an  act  of 
kindness  done  to  an  old  witch  in  distress,  who  turns 
out  to  be  a  fairy  godmother  and  gives  him  a  wish 
or  some  magical  gear,  with  which  he  proceeds  to 
make  his  fortune.  One  of  the  best  of  these  yarns 
of  the  youngest  son  relates  that  the  two  elder 
brothers  had  gone,  as  always,  to  the  king's  court 
to  make  their  fortunes.  The  king  set  them,  each 
in  turn,  to  herd  his  hares,  with  the  condition  that, 
if  none  of  the  hares  were  lost,  the  princess  would 
bestow  her  hand  on  the  lucky  herdsman;  but  if 
even  one  were  missing  in  the  evening,  the  culprit 
should  have  a  slice  cut  from  his  back,  and  salt 
rubbed  in  till  he  howled. 

As  was  to  be  expected,  the  two  elder  brothers 

310 


SCANDINAVIAN  FUNNY  STORIES 

came  to  grief;  and  the  king,  with  many  expressions 
of  regret,  carved  them  according  to  agreement. 
Then  came  the  youngest  son,  who,  as  we  expected, 
had  met  the  fairy  godmother  well  disguised  as  a 
witch,  and  had  received  from  her,  in  return  for 
kindness,  a  fairy  pipe  which  had  the  virtue  that, 
if  you  blew  into  one  end,  things  would  scatter  and 
fly,  but  if  you  blew  into  the  other,  they  would  run 
together  again  as  quickly  as  quicksilver.  So  the 
hares  were  magically  herded,  and  the  king,  lugubri- 
ously whetting  his  knife  each  day,  was  doomed 
each  evening  to  disappointment.  Then  the  whole 
court  was  intrigued,  and  the  king  sent  the  princess 
to  spy  on  him;  and  when  she  had  discovered  the 
secret  of  the  magic  pipe,  the  king  bade  her  pur- 
chase it  at  any  cost.  So  she  gave  many  dollars 
and  more  kisses  for  the  pipe,  and  set  off  home 
with  it;  but  it  had  this  virtue,  that,  if  the  lawful 
owner  lost  it,  he  had  only  to  wish  it  back  again, 
and  it  would  come.  So  the  princess  discovered 
that  the  pipe  was  gone;  and  the  hares  were  well 
herded  once  more.  First  the  queen  tried,  giving 
many  kisses  and  dollars;  and  then  the  king,  giving 
his  own  white  steed,  but  all  to  no  purpose.  The 
pipe  went  back  to  the  youngest  son. 

At  this  the  king  was  spiteful  and  wroth,  and 
said  the  youngest  son  was  a  wizard  and  must 
lose  his  life  unless  he  could  lie  the  great  brewing- 
vat  full  of  lies  so  that  it  ran  over.  Then  he  might 
keep  his  life. 

That  was  neither  a  long  nor  a  perilous  piece  of 
work.  The  youngest  son  could  do  that.  So  he 

21  311 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

began  to  tell  the  whole  tale  just  as  it  had  happened, 
and  how  the  old  witch  gave  him  the  pipe.  And 
then  he  went  on  to  say,  "Well,  but  I  must  lie 
faster  if  the  vat  is  to  be  full."  So  he  went  on 
and  told  how  the  princess  came  and  gave  him 
many  dollars  for  the  pipe,  and  many  kisses,  away 
there  in  the  wood.  Then  he  stopped  and  said, 
"I  must  lie  faster  if  ever  the  vat  is  to  be  full." 
So  he  told  of  the  queen,  and  how  she  had  tried  to 
get  the  pipe  and  of  the  money  she  had  given 
him,  and  the  kisses,  too.  And  the  queen  got  white, 
and  the  king  got  red  when  he  heard  it;  but  the 
youngest  son  said,  "I  must  lie  hard  to  get  the  vat 
full." 

But  the  queen  said,  "For  my  part,  I  think  it's 
pretty  full  already." 

"No,  no;  it  isn't,"  cried  the  king. 

So  the  youngest  son  went  on,  and  told  how  the 
king  had  come  after  the  pipe  in  his  turn,  and  was 
going  to  tell  about  all  the  tricks  the  king  had  tried 
on  him  to  get  the  pipe.  "If  the  vat  is  to  be  full 
I  must  lie  hard!"  he  said. 

But  the  king  got  redder  and  redder,  because  he 
was  ashamed  of  the  tricks  he  had  tried  and  afraid 
that  the  court  would  mock  him;  so  the  king  cried 
out,  "Hold,  hold!  The  vat  is  full  to  the  brim! 
Don't  you  see  how  the  lies  are  pouring  over?" 

So  the  youngest  son  got  the  princess  for  his  wife, 
and  half  the  kingdom.  There  was  no  help  for 
it. 

"That  was  something  of  a  pipe!"  said  the 
youngest  son. 

312 


XXVI 

THE   EUSSIAN   AND   THE   TARTAR 

IN  our  garland  of  the  laughter  of  the  world 
we  have  already  had  flowers  of  humorous  epic; 
first,  from  the  father  of  all  epic  poets  we  cited 
that  famed  passage  on  the  snaring  of  lovely  Aphro- 
dite and  Ares,  the  war-god,  in  a  net,  as  a  warning 
to  all  flirts  in  days  to  come,  whereat  the  assembled 
gods  broke  forth  in  Homeric  laughter  that  echoed 
through  the  high  halls  of  Olympus;  then,  from  the 
Mahabharata,  we  had  the  story  of  how  yet  other 
gods,  dusky  and  exotic  this  time,  paid  court  to 
King  Nala's  sweetheart,  Damayanti,  to  the  dire 
perplexity  of  that  love-lorn  and  loyal  maiden. 
We  shall  now  add  to  these  a  very  pretty  tale,  con- 
ceived in  a  spirit  of  genuine  humor,  and  having 
to  do  with  Vladimir  Sunbright,  prince  of  Kieff 
in  by-gone  days,  that  same  Vladimir  who  first 
made  Christians  of  the  heathen  Slavs,  for  which  he 
is  reverenced  as  a  saint. 

But  it  is  a  very  human  monarch,  rather  than  a 
saint,  who  meets  us  in  this  story,  a  magnificent 
and  barbaric  prince,  who  had  made  a  festival,  a 
day  of  honor  for  princes  and  warriors,  for  strangers 
in  Kieff  and  for  merchants,  and  for  all  who  might 

313 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

come  to  his  hospitable  halls.  When  the  guests 
had  eaten  at  the  long  tables  and  had  drunk  well 
of  the  green  wine  and  mead,  filled  with  the  joy 
of  their  feasting,  they  began  to  boast. 

One  of  them  boasted  of  his  might  in  war,  one 
boasted  of  his  noble  birth,  another,  of  his  swift 
horses,  another  of  his  silken  cloak.  But  among 
all  the  guests  assembled  in  Prince  Vladimir's  hall 
a  young  merchant  guest  from  Chernigoff,  by  name 
Stavyor  Godinovich,  ate  not  and  drank  not;  he 
broke  not  the  flesh  of  white  swans  nor  tasted  the 
green  wine,  nor  did  he  boast  him  of  anything: 
Prince  Vladimir  Sunbright  of  Kieff  noted  it,  and 
came  through  the  hall  to  young  Stavyor,  speaking 
to  him  words  like  these: 

"Go  to,  then,  young  Stavyor  Godinovich;  why 
sittest  thou,  eating  not,  nor  drinking  nor  feasting, 
neither  breaking  the  white  swan's  flesh  nor 
drinking  the  green  wine,  nor  yet  boasting  thee  of 
anything  at  the  feast?" 

Then  Stavyor  Godinovich  made  this  high- 
hearted answer:  "What  need  have  I  to  boast 
among  the  feasters?  Shall  I  boast  of  my  father 
and  mother?  But  my  father  and  mother  are 
dead  and  gone.  Shall  I  boast  of  my  wealth? 
But  my  wealth  is  safe  enough.  Little  gains  and 
little  coins  I  keep  not.  Shall  I  boast  of  my 
flowered  robes?  But  my  flowered  robes  are 
hardly  worn.  I  have  ever  thirty  master  tailors 
in  my  house,  who  sew  me  new  caftans  and  cloaks. 
A  day  I  wear  them,  two  days  I  wear  them,  then 
send  them  to  the  booths  in  the  market-place;  to 

314 


THE  RUSSIAN  AND  THE  TARTAR 

your  princes  and  warriors  I  sell  them,  and  take 
the  full  price  unabated.  Or  shall  I  boast  of  my 
swift  horses?  But  my  swift  horses  I  hardly  ride. 
I  have  thirty  mares  of  golden  sides  that  bear  me 
unblemished  foals.  The  best  of  them  I  ride  my- 
self; the  worst  I  send  to  the  market-place;  to  your 
princes  and  warriors  I  sell  them,  and  take  the  full 
price  unabated.  Small  need  have  I  to  boast 
among  you.  Or  should  I  boast  of  my  new- wed 
wife,  Vassilissa,  Mikula's  child — of  her  forehead 
whiter  than  the  moon,  her  eyes  that  glimmer  like 
the  stars,  her  brows  darker  than  sable  fur,  her 
hair  brighter  than  the  swift  falcon's  wing?  She 
would  buy  you,  princes  and  warriors;  and  for  thee, 
Vladimir,  she  would  make  thee  mad.'7 

The  guests'  faces  darkened,  and  the  boasting 
of  young  Stavyor  pleased  not  Prince  Vladimir; 
therefore,  full  of  anger,  he  spoke  words  like  these: 

"  My  faithful  servants  all !  Seize  young  Stavyor 
Godinovich!  By  his  white  hands  seize  him,  by 
his  fingers  with  their  rings  of  gold;  hail  him  away 
to  the  chill  prison,  for  this  boasting  of  his  and  his 
words  of  little  courtesy.  Feed  him  there  on  bread 
and  water,  not  for  less  nor  for  more,  but  for  six 
full  years.  Let  him  there  win  back  his  wits  again ! 
For  we  would  see  how  Stavyor's  new-wed  wife  will 
draw  her  boaster  from  the  dungeon,  how  she  buys 
you  and  sells  you,  warriors  and  princes,  and  for 
me,  Vladimir,  how  she  makes  me  mad!" 

So  the  boastful  young  Stavyor  was  consigned 
to  durance  vile,  and  Vladimir  Sunbright  sent 
messengers  to  seize  his  new-wed  wife  and  bring  her 

315 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

a  prisoner  to  Kieff.  But  word  of  Stavyor's  mishap 
outran  the  messengers,  and  the  fair  Vassilissa 
thus  bethought  her,  "I  cannot  ransom  Stavyor 
with  money;  I  cannot  save  him  by  force;  I  must 
win  him  forth  from  the  dungeon  by  woman's 
wile  and  artfulness.  So  she  had  her  golden  locks 
shorn  off  relentlessly,  and,  taking  valiant  com- 
panions, set  forth  for  Kieff  disguised  as  an  envoy 
of  the  Tartar  Horde — a  wild  anachronism,  by  the 
way,  for  the  Horde  did  not  reach  Russia  until 
centuries  later.  But  so  runs  the  tale. 

The  seeming  envoy,  assuming  the  name  of 
Vassili,  Mikuta's  child,  came  right  haughtily  to 
Kieff,  strode  into  Vladimir's  hall,  and  demanded 
the  arrears  of  tribute  due  to  the  Tartars  and  to 
their  chief,  the  hound  Kalin.  The  envoy,  waxing 
bolder  as  Prince  Vladimir  quailed,  went  on  to 
demand  in  marriage  the  hand  of  Vladimir's  fair 
niece,  Zabava  Putyatishna,  who  was  seated  with 
him  at  the  banquet. 

Vladimir  answered:  "It  is  well,  thou  envoy 
Vassili,  Mikula's  child.  But  I  would  weigh  the 
matter  with  my  niece."  So  he  led  her  forth  from 
the  chamber,  to  take  counsel  with  her,  addressing 
to  her  words  like  these:  "Answer  me,  well-loved 
niece;  wilt  thou  wed  the  stern  envoy?  Wilt  thou 
wed  Vassili,  Mikula's  child?" 

But  Zabava  answered  him,  smiling  secretly: 
"Nay,  well-loved  uncle,  what  perverse  purpose  is 
thine?  What  is  this  that  thou  hast  dreamed  of? 
Wed  not  a  maiden  to  a  woman,  nor  make  me 
laughing-stock  for  holy  Russia !" 

316 


THE  RUSSIAN  AND  THE  TARTAR 

Vladimir  answered,  much  perplexed,  "Nay, 
well-loved  niece,  but  why  should  I  not  wed  thee  to 
the  envoy — the  stern  envoy  of  the  fierce  hound 
Kalin,  the  Tartar  king?" 

But  Zabava  answered  him:  "Nay,  no  envoy  is 
this,  but  a  woman!  For  the  signs  of  womanhood, 
I  know  them  well.  As  a  swan  swims,  she  walks 
the  highway  and  mounts  the  stair  with  little 
steps,  seats  her  on  the  bench  with  knees  together, 
glancing  hither  and  yon  beneath  her  eyelids.  Her 
voice  is  somewhat  piping,  like  a  woman's;  and  her 
waist  is  slender,  like  a  woman's;  her  hands  are 
pliant,  like  a  woman's;  and  her  fingers  taper,  like 
a  woman's,  with  the  mark  of  the  wedding-rings 
still  upon  them!  Nay,  such  a  pair,  if  we  were  wed, 
would  die  of  weariness!" 

So  Vladimir  Sunbright  of  Kieff  determined  to 
make  trial  of  the  envoy,  challenging  him  first  to 
try  his  strength  against  the  wrestlers;  and  there- 
upon, in  a  style  to  make  even  the  most  determined 
modern  Amazon  envious,  the  self-styled  envoy 
Vassili  with  the  right  hand  seized  three  wrestlers, 
and  with  the  left  hand  seized  another  three,  hurling 
them  together  and  casting  them  away,  so  that  the 
seventh  was  overwhelmed  beneath  them.  Then, 
in  the  words  of  the  epic,  Vladimir  spat,  and  so 
returned. 

A  trial  of  archery  had  a  like  result,  and  at  last 
the  false,  fair  envoy  beat  Vladimir  at  chess, 
winning  from  him  his  city  of  Kieff,  instead  of  which, 
after  guileful  bargaining,  the  envoy  agreed  to 

accept  the  boastful  husband,  Stavyor  Godinovich. 

317 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

The  story  ends  in  the  triumphant  mockery  of 
Vladimir  Sunbright  of  Kieff  by  the  fair  Vas- 
silissa,  Mikula's  child,  who  has  made  good  the 
boast,  buying  and  selling  the  princes  and  warriors 
and  making  Prince  Vladimir  mad. 

So  much  for  the  folk-humor  of  the  old  Russian 
bards.  It  was  late  in  the  day  when  Russian  began 
to  grow  into  a  literary  tongue.  Among  the 
earlier  writers  who  brought  that  consummation 
about  is  one  who  rejoices  in  the  delightfully  pie- 
bald name  of  Denis  Ivanovich  von  Wiesen,  a 
contemporary  of  George  Washington.  He  has 
written  satirical  comedies;  but  the  funniest  thing 
of  his  that  I  know  of  is  the  account  of  his  school- 
days in  his  Confession.  He  tells  us  that  the 
professors  sometimes  came  to  their  classes,  but  not 
often.  The  mathematical  teacher  drank  himself 
to  death.  The  Latin  teacher  came  only  at  exam- 
ination times,  appearing  then  in  a  caftan  that  had 
five  buttons,  while  his  waistcoat  had  only  four. 

" My  buttons  seem  to  amuse  you,"  said  the  pro- 
fessor, when  the  students  laughed  at  him,  "but  they 
are  the  guardians  of  your  honor  and  of  mine :  those 
on  the  caftan  stand  for  the  five  declensions,  those 
on  the  vest  for  the  four  conjugations.  And 
now,"  he  proceeded,  as  he  beat  the  table  with 
his  hand,  "be  all  attention  to  what  I  have  to  say! 
When  they  shall  ask  you  for  the  declension  of 
some  noun,  watch  what  button  I  am  touching: 
if  you  see  me  holding  the  second  button,  answer 
boldly,  'The  second  declension/  Do  similarly 
in  regard  to  the  conjugations,  being  guided  by 

318 


THE  RUSSIAN  AND  THE  TARTAR 

the  buttons  on  my  vest,  and  you  will  never  make 
a  mistake." 

In  the  geography  class,  the  first  student  was 
asked  into  what  sea  the  Volga  flowed. 

"Into  the  Black  Sea,"  was  his  answer. 

The  second  student  answered, "  Into  the  White 
Sea." 

When  Von  Wiesen  was  asked,  he  answered,  "I 
don't  know,"  with  such  an  expression  of  sim- 
plicity that  the  examiners  at  once  awarded  him  the 
gold  medal. 

Ivan  Kriloff  belonged  to  the  next  generation. 
Here  is  a  free  rendering  of  one  of  the  best  of  his 
fables,  entitled,  shall  we  say,  "The  Unqualified 
Prevaricator." 

A  certain  nobleman,  perhaps  even  a  prince, 
returning  from  distant  lands,  fell  into  the  habit 
of  boasting  of  the  strange  and  wonderful  things  he 
had  seen. 

"Alas,"  he  sighed,  "I  shall  never  see  the  like 
of  it  again!  What  a  land  is  this  Russia  of  ours. 
Too  hot  half  the  year,  too  cold  the  other  half; 
now  you  are  baked,  now  you  are  deluged;  but 
abroad  it  is  a  real  paradise;  you  never  need  a 
fur  coat  or  a  fire;  it  is  merry  May  the  whole  year 
long.  Abroad  you  need  neither  plant  nor  sow, 
all  things  grow  so  wonderfully!  Why,  in  Rome 
once  I  saw  a  cucumber — oh,  heavens!  even  to 
think  of  it  fills  me  anew  with  wonder.  Why, 
friend,  that  cucumber  was  as  big  as  a  hill!" 

"Ah,"  said  his  friend,  "how  marvelous!  Yet 
the  world  has  many  marvels;  why,  in  this  very 

319 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

neighborhood  there  is  one,  the  bridge  across  that 
stream  we  are  coming  to.  It  looks  plain  enough, 
but  is  a  true  miracle.  Not  a  liar  in  the  country 
will  venture  near  it,  for  as  soon  as  he  gets  half- 
way across,  the  bridge  will  gape  in  the  middle  and 
let  him  through  into  the  stream.  But  your  truth- 
ful man  may  go  over  boldly,  even  in  his  carriage. " 

"Mm!"  said  the  traveler.   "Is  the  water  deep?" 

"Oh,  not  so  deep/'  said  the  friend,  "but  there 
is  water  enough  to  drown  a  liar  or  two.  So,  you 
see,  there  is  more  than  one  kind  of  marvel  in  the 
world.  But  Roman  cucumbers  are  huge,  no  doubt 
of  it — you  said,  I  think,  as  big  as  a  hill?" 

"Well,"  said  the  traveler,  hesitating,  "not  so 
big  as  a  hill,  perhaps,  but  as  big  as  a  house!" 

"You  don't  tell  me!"  replied  the  friend.  "Still 
there  are  wonders  in  the  world,  and  real  ones. 
Like  this  bridge,  for  instance,  that  won't  let  a 
liar  go  across  it.  Why,  just  this  spring,  as  every 
one  in  town  well  knows,  a  tailor  and  two  journalists 
fell  through.  Still,  a  cucumber  as  big  as  a  house 
is  astonishing  enough,  deny  it  who  can." 

"Not  quite  so  wonderful,  when  you  under- 
stand. Houses  are  not  everywhere  as  big  as  they 
are  here.  The  houses  there,  as  I  should  have 
explained,  will  just  hold  two,  who  neither  stand  up 
nor  sit  down." 

"Well,  well,"  said  the  friend,  "a  cucumber  with 
room  for  two  inside  is  worth  seeing;  but  our 
bridge  here  is  a  pretty  wonderful  bridge,  too; 
not  a  liar  can  go  across  it  .  .  ." 

"Say  no  more,  friend,"  begged  the  traveler; 

320 


THE  RUSSIAN  AND  THE  TARTAR 

"and  after  all,  why  cross  the  bridge?  There  must 
be  a  ford  about  here,  somewhere!" 

Yet  a  generation  later  comes  Gogol,  one  of  the 
strangest  of  many  strange  Russian  geniuses. 
Were  it  possible,  I  would  fain  give  some  account 
of  his  ludicrous  comedy,  "The  Reviser,"  in  which 
a  pack  of  grafting  Russian  officials  are  warned 
that  a  secret  agent  has  been  sent  to  their  town 
from  St.  Petersburg  to  pry  into  their  misdeeds. 
Just  at  the  same  time  it  happens  that  a  needy 
youth  has  drifted  into  town,  put  up  at  the  inn, 
and  remained  there  for  the  sternly  simple  reason 
that  he  could  not  pay  his  bill  and  leave.  The 
fact  that  he  does  not  pay,  and  orders  every  one 
about,  at  once  suggests  to  the  guileless  grafters 
that  he  must  be  the  expected  high  official;  so  they 
wait  on  him,  treat  him  royally,  make  him  a  guest 
of  honor,  and  load  him  with  gifts.  At  first  he 
thinks  they  have  come  to  arrest  him  for  his  hotel 
bill,  and  blusters  manfully;  then  he  rises  to  the 
situation,  and  decides  to  fool  them  to  the  top  of 
their  bent.  He  in  due  time  departs,  and  an 
incautious  letter  of  his  to  a  friend  betrays  the 
secret.  But  the  humor  of  the  piece  lies  in  the 
immortal  doublets,  Peter  Ivanovich  Bobchinski 
and  Peter  Ivanovich  Dobchinski,  who  are  forever 
interrupting  each  other  and  tripping  over  each 
other's  heels.  For  example,  they  discover  the 
mysterious  stranger  at  the  hotel,  and  rush  to  bear 
the  news  to  the  assembled  officials. 

Breathless,  Bobchinski  cries  out,  "A  most 
extraordinary  occurrence  ..." 

321 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

Dobchinski  interrupts,  "A  most  unexpected  oc- 
currence .  .  ." 

"What  is  it?"  cry  the  alarmed  officials. 

Dobchinski  starts  again:  "A  quite  unforeseen 
affair;  we  went  to  the  hotel  .  .  ." 

Bobchinski  interrupts,  "Peter  Ivanovich  and  I 
came  to  the  hotel  ..." 

Dobchinski  breaks  in,  "Eh,  allow  me,  Peter 
Ivanovich,  let  me  tell  it  .  .  ." 

Bobchinski  pleads,  "Oh  no,  let  me,  let  me;  you 
aren't  a  good  talker  ..." 

"Dobchinski  interrupts,  "But  you'll  get  con- 
fused, and  forget  something  ..." 

Bobchinski  protests,  "Oh  no!  I  won't,  upon 
my  word !  Don't  plague  me ;  let  me  tell  it !  Please, 
gentlemen,  do  not  let  Peter  Ivanovich  plague 
me  .  .  ." 

The  exasperated  officials  protest:  "For  the 
Lord's  sake,  do  tell  it.  What  happened?  My 
heart  is  in  my  mouth.  Sit  down,  gentlemen! 
Take  seats!  Peter  Ivanovich,  here  is  a  chair  for 
you.  Well,  what  has  happened?"  and  all  gather 
about  the  two  Peter  Ivanoviches. 

So  goes  the  tale,  but  it  is  rather  a  matter  of 
comic  acting  than  narrative  humor. 


XXVII 

THE    CENTRAL   FIGURE    OF   ENGLISH    HUMOR 

WE  are  all  familiar  with  the  central  figure  of 
English  humor:  the  rotund,  jolly  man  with 
the  red  face,  who  carried  with  him  the  atmos- 
phere of  the  great  out-of-doors,  who  is  mightily 
addicted  to  the  swigging  of  beer,  and  who,  when 
half-seas  over,  plunges  with  wild  recklessness  into 
all  sorts  of  questionable  adventures;  a  good  sort, 
withal,  though  much  too  boisterous  for  weak 
nerves,  carrying  about  with  him  a  flavor  of  the 
stables,  and  devoted  to  sanguinary  adjectives. 
In  a  word,  the  comic  John  Bull,  without  whom  no 
English  book  is  thoroughly  national. 

Whether  the  Anglo-Saxons  recognized  him  is  a 
question  into  which  I  am  not  drawn  to  investi- 
gate; perhaps  Norman  Rufus  was  the  first  ad- 
umbration of  him,  though  I  never  heard  Rufus 
spoken  of  as  a  comic  person;  on  the  contrary,  he 
was  rather  grim  and  downright.  But  when  we 
come  to  Geoffrey  Chaucer,  the  verse-writing  mem- 
ber of  Parliament,  we  find  the  type  complete,  as, 
indeed,  is  true  of  nearly  every  type  distinctly 
English.  Chaucer  paints  the  more  amiable  side 
of  the  comic  John  Bull  in  the  Franklin  of  the 

323 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

famed  Canterbury  pilgrimage,  while  the  disrepu- 
table side,  a  hardly  less  essential  part  of  the  pic- 
ture, is  embodied  in  the  Surnmoner  of  the  same 
immortal  company. 

Chaucer  touches  off  the  Franklin  with  the  loving 
skill  of  a  Rembrandt  or  a  Jan  Steen,  beginning 
artfully  with  his  beard,  white  as  a  daisy,  above 
which  flares  into  rubicund  jollity  his  sanguine 
visage.  The  good  gentleman  loved  to  begin  the 
morning  with  a  hunch  of  white  bread  soaked  in 
red  wine;  his  wont  was  ever  to  live  in  pleasure, 
for  he  was  own  son  to  Epicurus,  and  held  firmly 
to  the  view  that  pleasure  was  the  highest  good. 
He  was  the  Saint  Julian  of  the  country-side  for 
cheerful  hospitality;  his  bread  and  ale  were  uni- 
formly good,  his  cellars  always  stocked  with  good 
red  wine.  His  house  was  never  without  baked 
meats,  and  fish  and  fowl  were  as  plentiful  as  snow 
in  winter.  All  the  dainties  of  the  year  graced  his 
table,  month  by  month,  partridge  and  bream  and 
pike,  with  poignant  sauce.  Like  a  good  English 
country  gentleman  he  attended  the  sessions  as  a 
justice  of  the  peace,  and  his  county  had  often  sent 
him  to  Westminster. 

Is  there  anything  in  that  portrait  of  the  late 
thirteen  hundreds  that  would  seem  out  of  place 
in  Tom  Jones  or  one  of  Hardy's  books?  Is  it 
not  the  type  perennial,  everlasting?  But  to  paint 
in  the  disreputable  traits,  from  the  Summoner, 
the  hanger-on  of  the  ecclesiastical  court.  The 
Summoner  also  was  a  florid  Englishman,  having, 
indeed,  a  fire-red  cherub's  face  plentifully  adorned 

324 


ENGLISH  HUMOR 

with  knobs  and  carbuncles.  He  also  loved  strong 
red  wine,  and  had  a  plebeian  fondness  for  garlic, 
onions,  and  leeks.  And,  when  he  was  in  liquor, 
he  would  speak  nothing  but  Latin,  stringing  to- 
gether the  tags  he  had  picked  up,  as  apparitor  at 
the  courts.  Chaucer  insists  that  this  knobbed, 
red-faced  knave  is  a  jolly  good  fellow,  a  point  of 
view  also  distinctly  English;  and,  as  an  example 
of  his  goodness  to  other  jolly  good  fellows,  relates 
that  he  was  ever  ready  to  screen  them  against 
the  archdeacon's  curse;  he  kept  under  his  thumb 
all  the  young  folk  of  the  diocese,  not,  I  fear,  to 
their  edification.  The  Summoner  wore  a  garland 
on  his  head  big  enough  for  the  sign  of  an  ale- 
house, and  had  a  huge  round  cake  for  a  shield. 

So  much  for  the  picture  of  the  comic  John  Bull, 
feelingly  limned  by  Dan  Chaucer,  who  is  a  per- 
fect Dutch  portraitist.  Then  two  centuries  later 
comes  the  Bard  of  Avon,  and  sets  the  comic  John 
Bull  in  action,  dragging  him  through  a  thousand 
screamingly  funny,  disreputable  adventures,  such 
as  the  escapades  with  Prince  Hal,  and  that  famed 
adventure  with  the  " Merry  Wives  of  Windsor." 

For,  I  make  no  doubt,  gentle  reader,  you  have 
already  recognized  the  John  Bull  of  comedy  in 
that  fat  rascal,  Sir  John  Falstaff,  the  creation  of 
whom  places  Shakespeare  among  the  greatest 
humorists  of  the  world,  peer,  in  that  kind,  of 
Aristophanes,  Cervantes,  Rabelais;  and  one  may 
doubt  whether  Falstaff  be  not  the  most  compact 
organic  figure  of  them  all;  and  English  through 
and  through,  contrasted,  let  us  say,  with  the  lean 

325 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

knight  of  La  Mancha  or  the  gluttonous  guzzler, 
Gargantua. 

But  instead  of  trying  to  portray  Sir  John,  let 
me  borrow  a  character  sketch  of  him  from  Prince 
Hal,  who,  when  Falstaff  asks  him  the  time  of 
day,  thus  heartily  responds: 

"Thou  art  so  fat-witted,  with  drinking  of  old 
sack,  and  unbuttoning  thee  after  supper,  and 
sleeping  upon  benches  after  noon,  that  thou  hast 
forgotten  to  demand  that  truly  which  thou 
wouldst  truly  know.  What  a  devil  hast  thou  to 
do  with  the  time  of  the  day?  unless  hours  were 
cups  of  sack,  and  minutes  capons,"  and  more  of 
like  essence. 

To  which  Falstaff  replies:  "Indeed,  you  come 
near  to  me  now,  Hal:  for  we  that  take  purses  go 
by  the  moon  and  seven  stars;  and  not  by  Phoebus 
— he,  'that  wandering  knight  so  fair.7  And,  I 
pray  thee,  sweet  wag,  when  thou  art  king — as, 
God  save  thy  grace  (majesty,  I  should  say;  for 
grace  thou  wilt  have  none);  marry,  then,  sweet 
wag,  when  thou  art  king  let  not  us,  that  are 
squires  of  the  night's  body,  be  called  thieves  of 
the  day's  beauty;  let  us  be — Diana's  foresters, 
gentlemen  of  the  shade,  minions  of  the  moon. 
And  let  men  say:  we  be  men  of  good  government, 
being  governed  as  the  sea  is,  by  our  noble  and 
chaste  mistress  the  moon,  under  whose  counte- 
nance we  steal.  .  .  .  Thou  hast  done  much  harm 
upon  me,  Hal,  God  forgive  thee  for  it!  Before  I 
knew  thee,  Hal,  I  knew  nothing;  and  now  am  I, 
if  a  man  should  speak  truly,  little  better  than  one 

326 


ENGLISH  HUMOR 

of  the  wicked.  I  must  give  over  this  life,  and  I 
will  give  it  over;  by  the  Lord,  an  I  do  not,  I  am 
a  villain;  I'll  be  damned  for  never  a  king's  son 
in  Christendom." 

Falstaff,  in  his  young  days,  was  a  contemporary 
of  Chaucer,  so  it  is  fitting  enough  that  the  boon 
companions  should  agree  to  lie  in  wait  that  night 
for  a  band  of  pilgrims  going  to  Canterbury  with 
rich  offerings.  How  the  adventure  befell,  let 
Falstaff  bear  testimony: 

"There  be  four  of  us  here/'  he  boasts  over  his 
cup  of  sack  in  the  Boar's  Head  tavern  at  East- 
cheap,  "have  ta'en  a  thousand  pound  this  morn- 
ing. Where  is  it?  Taken  from  us  it  is;  a  hun- 
dred upon  poor  four  us.  I  am  a  rogue,  if  I  were 
not  at  half-sword  with  a  dozen  of  them  two  hours 
together.  I  have  'scap'd  by  miracle.  I  am  eight 
times  thrust  through  the  doublet;  four  through 
the  hose;  my  buckler  cut  through  and  through; 
my  sword  hacked  like  a  hand-saw,  ecce  signum. 
I  never  dealt  better  since  I  was  a  man — all  would 
not  do.  A  plague  of  all  cowards!  Let  them 
speak.  If  they  speak  more  or  less  than  truth, 
they  are  villains." 

Prince  Hal  calls  on  the  others  to  speak. 

Gadshill  responds,  "We  four  set  upon  some 
dozen — " 

Whereupon  Falstaff  interrupts:  "Sixteen,  at 
least,  my  lord." 

"And  bound  them,"  says  Gadshill. 

But  Peto  declares  they  were  not  bound. 

"You  rogue,"  cries  Falstaff,  "they  were  bound, 
22  327 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

every  man  of  them;  or  I  am  a  Jew  else,  an  Ebrew 
Jew." 

Gadshill  again  interjects,  "As  we  were  sharing, 
some  six  or  seven  fresh  men  set  upon  us— 

"And  unbound  the  rest,  and  then  come  in 
the  other,"  Falstaff  takes  up  the  tale. 

Prince  Hal  incredulously  asks,  "What,  fought 
ye  with  them  all?" 

"All?"  cries  Falstaff.  "I  know  not  what  you 
call  all;  but  if  I  fought  not  with  fifty  of  them,  I 
am  a  bunch  of  radish;  if  there  were  not  two  or 
three  and  fifty  upon  poor  old  Jack,  then  am  I  no 
two-legged  creature." 

"Pray  God,"  says  Poins,  "you  have  not  mur- 
dered some  of  them." 

"Nay,"  answers  Falstaff,  "that's  past  praying 
for;  for  I  have  peppered  two  of  them;  two,  I  am 
sure,  I  have  paid;  two  rogues  in  buckram  suits. 
I  tell  thee  what,  Hal,  if  I  tell  thee  a  lie,  spit  in 
my  face,  call  me  horse.  Thou  knowest  my  old 
ward — here  I  lay,  and  thus  I  bore  my  point.  Four 
rogues  in  buckram  let  drive  at  me,  these  four 
came  all  a-front,  and  mainly  thrust  at  me.  I 
made  me  no  more  ado,  but  took  all  their  seven 
points  in  my  target,  thus:  These  nine,  in  buck- 
ram, that  I  told  thee  of,  began  to  give  me  ground; 
but  I  followed  me  close,  came  in  foot  and  hand; 
and,  with  a  thought,  seven  of  the  eleven  I  paid. 
But,  as  the  devil  would  have  it,  three  misbe- 
gotten knaves,  in  Kendal  green,  came  at  my 
back  and  let  drive  at  me — for  it  was  so  dark,  Hal, 
that  thou  couldst  not  see  thy  hand." 

328 


ENGLISH  HUMOR 

Then,  after  some  eloquent  banter,  Prince  Hal 
tells  what  really  befell: 

"We  two  saw  you  four  set  on  four;  you  bound 
them,  and  were  masters  of  their  wealth.  Mark 
now,  how  plain  a  tale  shall  put  you  down.  Then 
did  we  two  set  on  you  four;  and,  with  a  word, 
out-faced  you  from  your  prize,  and  have  it;  yea, 
and  can  show  it  you  here  in  the  house;  and,  Fal- 
staff,  you  carried  your  guts  away  as  nimbly,  with 
as  quick  dexterity,  and  roared  for  mercy,  and  still 
ran  and  roared,  as  ever  I  heard  bull-calf.  What 
a  slave  art  thou,  to  hack  thy  sword  as  thou  hast 
done;  and  then  say,  it  was  in  fight!  What  trick, 
what  device,  what  starting-hole,  canst  thou  now 
find  out,  to  hide  thee  from  this  open  and  apparent 
shame?" 

"By  the  Lord,"  answers  jolly  Sir  John,  no  whit 
abashed,  "I  knew  ye,  as  well  as  he  that  made  ye. 
Why,  hear  ye,  my  masters:  Was  it  for  me  to  kill 
the  heir  apparent?  Should  I  turn  upon  the  true 
prince?  Why,  thou  knowest,  I  am  as  valiant  as 
Hercules;  but  beware  instinct;  the  lion  will  not 
touch  the  true  prince.  Instinct  is  a  great  matter; 
I  was  a  coward  in  instinct.  I  shall  think  the  bet- 
ter of  myself  and  thee,  during  my  life;  I,  for  a 
valiant  lion,  and  thou  for  a  true  prince.  But,  by 
the  Lord,  lads,  I  am  glad  you  have  the  money- 
Hostess,  clap  to  the  doors;  watch  to-night,  pray 
to-morrow.  Gallants,  lads,  boys,  hearts  of  gold, 
all  the  titles  of  good-fellowship  come  to  you! 
What,  shall  we  be  merry?  Shall  we  have  a  play 
extempore?" 

329 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

Which  sufficiently  reveals  Sir  John  Falstaff  as 
the  comic  John  Bull.  Some  two  and  a  quarter 
centuries  after  Shakespeare  wrote  that  comedy, 
Sir  John  Falstaff  was  reborn,  still  choosing  Eng- 
land for  his  native  land,  in  the  person  of  Samuel 
Pickwick,  Esquire,  author  of  a  learned  paper  en- 
titled, "  Speculations  on  the  Source  of  the  Hamp- 
stead  Ponds,  with  Some  Observations  on  the 
Theory  of  Tittlebats."  The  reincarnated  Sir 
John,  who  now  bore  the  prenomen  of  Samuel, 
had,  it  is  true,  a  sobered  and  a  chastened  spirit, 
yet  something  of  the  destiny  of  him  whom  the 
Merry  Wives  carried  out  in  a  clothes-basket 
still  clung  to  him.  As  witness  the  following 
adventure: 

Mr.  Pickwick  paced  his  room  in  Goswell 
Street  to  and  fro  with  hurried  steps,  popped  his 
head  out  of  the  window  at  intervals  of  about  three 
minutes  each,  constantly  referred  to  his  watch, 
and  exhibited  many  other  manifestations  of  im- 
patience, very  unusual  with  him.  It  was  evident 
that  something  of  great  importance  was  in  con- 
templation, but  what  that  something  was  not 
even  Mrs.  Bardell  herself  had  been  enabled  to 
discover. 

"Mrs.  Bardell,"  said  Mr.  Pickwick,  at  last,  as 
that  amiable  female  approached  the  termination 
of  a  prolonged  dusting  of  the  apartment. 

"Sir,"  said  Mrs.  Bardell. 

"Your  little  boy  is  a  very  long  time  gone." 

"Why,  it's  a  good  long  way  to  the  Borough, 
sir,"  remonstrated  Mrs.  Bardell. 

330 


ENGLISH  HUMOR 

"Ah,"  said  Mr.  Pickwick,  "very  true;  so  it  is." 

Mr.  Pickwick  relapsed  into  silence,  and  Mrs. 
Bardell  resumed  her  dusting. 

"Mrs.  Bardell/7  said  Mr.  Pickwick,  at  the 
expiration  of  a  few  minutes. 

"Sir,"  said  Mrs.  Bardell  again. 

"Do  you  think  it's  a  much  greater  expense  to 
keep  two  people  than  to  keep  one?" 

"La,  Mr.  Pickwick,"  said  Mrs.  Bardell,  color- 
ing up  to  the  very  border  of  her  cap,  as  she  fancied 
she  observed  a  species  of  matrimonial  twinkle  in 
the  eyes  of  her  lodger.  "La,  Mr.  Pickwick,  what 
a  question !" 

"Well,  but  do  you?"  inquired  Mr.  Pickwick. 

"That  depends,"  said  Mrs.  Bardell,  approach- 
ing the  duster  very  near  to  Mr.  Pickwick's  elbow, 
which  was  planted  on  the  table — "that  depends  a 
good  deal  upon  the  person,  you  know,  Mr.  Pick- 
wick; and  whether  it's  a  saving  and  careful  per- 
son, sir." 

"That's  very  true,"  said  Mr.  Pickwick;  "but 
the  person  I  have  in  my  eye  [here  he  looked  very 
hard  at  Mrs.  Bardell]  I  think  possesses  these 
qualities;  and  has,  moreover,  a  considerable 
knowledge  of  the  world,  and  a  great  deal  of  sharp- 
ness, Mrs.  Bardell;  which  may  be  of  material  use 
to  me." 

"La,  Mr.  Pickwick,"  said  Mrs.  Bardell,  the 
crimson  rising  to  her  cap-border  again. 

"I  do,"  said  Mr.  Pickwick,  growing  energetic, 
as  was  his  wont  in  speaking  of  a  subject  which 
interested  him — "I  do,  indeed;  and  to  tell  you 

331 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

the  truth,  Mrs.  Bardell,  I  have  made  up  my 
mind." 

"Dear  me,  sir,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Bardell. 

"You'll  think  it  very  strange  now,"  said  the 
amiable  Mr.  Pickwick,  with  a  good-humored 
glance  at  his  companion,  "that  I  never  consulted 
you  about  this  matter,  and  never  mentioned  it 
till  I  sent  your  little  boy  out  this  morning — eh?" 

Mrs.  Bardell  could  only  reply  by  a  look.  She 
had  long  worshiped  Mr.  Pickwick  at  a  distance, 
but  here  she  was,  all  at  once,  raised  to  a  pinnacle 
to  which  her  wildest  and  most  extravagant  hopes 
had  never  dared  to  aspire.  Mr.  Pickwick  was 
going  to  propose — a  deliberate  plan,  too — sent 
her  little  boy  to  the  Borough,  to  get  him  out  of  the 
way — how  thoughtful — how  considerate! 

"Well," saidMr.  Pickwick,  "what  do  you  think?" 

"Oh,  Mr.  Pickwick,"  said  Mrs.  Bardell,  trem- 
bling with  agitation,  "you're  very  kind,  sir." 

"It  '11  save  you  a  good  deal  of  trouble,  won't 
it?"  said  Mr.  Pickwick. 

"Oh,  I  never  thought  anything  of  trouble, 
sir,"  replied  Mrs.  Bardell;  "and,  of  course,  I 
should  take  more  trouble  to  please  you  then  than 
ever;  but  it  is  so  kind  of  you,  Mr.  Pickwick,  to 
have  so  much  consideration  for  my  loneliness." 

"Ah,  to  be  sure,"  said  Mr.  Pickwick;  "I  never 
thought  of  that.  When  I  am  in  town,  you'll 
always  have  somebody  to  sit  with  you.  To  be 
sure,  so  you  will." 

"I'm  sure  I  ought  to  be  a  very  happy  woman," 
said  Mrs.  Bardell. 

332 


ENGLISH  HUMOR 

"And  your  little  boy — "  said  Mr.  Pickwick. 

" Bless  his  little  heart,"  interposed  Mrs.  Bar- 
dell,  with  a  maternal  sob. 

"He,  too,  will  have  a  companion,"  resumed 
Mr.  Pickwick,  "a  lively  one  who'll  teach  him,  I'll 
be  bound,  more  tricks  in  a  week  than  he  would 
ever  learn  in  a  year."  And  Mr.  Pickwick  smiled 
placidly. 

"Oh,  you  dear—"  said  Mrs.  Bardell. 

Mr.  Pickwick  started. 

"Oh,  you  kind,  good,  playful  dear,"  said  Mrs. 
Bardell ;  and,  without  more  ado,  she  rose  from  her 
chair  and  flung  her  arms  round  Mr.  Pickwick's 
neck,  with  a  cataract  of  tears  and  a  chorus  of 
sobs. 

"Bless  my  soul,"  cried  the  astonished  Mr.  Pick- 
wick. "Mrs.  Bardell,  my  good  woman — dear  me, 
what  a  situation — pray  consider.  Mrs.  Bardell, 
don't — if  anybody  should  come — " 

"Oh,  let  them  come,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Bardell, 
frantically;  "I'll  never  leave  you — dear,  kind, 
good  soul."  And  with  these  words,  Mrs.  Bardell 
clung  the  tighter. 

"Mercy  upon  me,"  said  Mr.  Pickwick,  strug- 
gling violently;  "I  hear  somebody  coming  up  the 
stairs.  Don't,  don't,  there's  a  good  woman, 
don't!"  But  the  entreaty  and  remonstrance  were 
alike  unavailing;  for  Mrs.  Bardell  had  fainted  in 
Mr.  Pickwick's  arms;  and  before  he  could  gain 
time  to  deposit  her  on  a  chair  Master  Bardell 
entered  the  room,  ushering  in  Mr.  Tupman,  Mr. 
Winkle,  and  Mr.  Snodgrass.  .  .  . 

333 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

"I  cannot  conceive,"  said  Mr.  Pickwick,  when 
his  friends  returned — "I  cannot  conceive  what 
has  been  the  matter  with  that  woman.  I  had 
merely  announced  to  her  my  intention  of  keeping 
a  man-servant,  when  she  fell  into  the  extraordi- 
nary paroxysm  in  which  you  found  her.  Very 
extraordinary  thing." 

"Very,"  said  his  three  friends. 


XXVIII 

THE   PAWKY  HUMOR   OF   SCOTLAND 

A  FRIEND  of  mine,  a  "puir  English  body," 
r\  be  it  understood,  declares  that  he  suspects 
the  authenticity  of  any  Scotch  joke,  unless  there 
be  a  corpse  concealed  in  it  somewhere.  That, 
I  think,  is  distinctly  libelous;  and,  besides,  he 
ought  to  have  said  "corp."  Anent  the  use  of  this 
word,  Sir  Archibald  Geikie,  himself  a  "brither 
Scot/7  tells  two  or  three  excellent  stories.  Strict- 
ly speaking,  he  says,  the  word  "corp  "'is  held  to 
be  the  singular  of  "  corpse,"  and  is  used  to  refer 
to  the  late  lamented  from  the  moment  of  death 
until  the  time  of  interment;  whereafter  he  ceases 
to  be  a  subject  of  anatomy,  and  becomes  a  sub- 
ject of  theology.  But,  pending  the  disposal  of 
his  earthly  part,  one  may  hear  such  a  discussion 
as  this,  concerning  a  departed  Scotchman:  "Ah'm 
sayin',  Sandy,  what  was  the  corp  to  trade?" 

And  there  is  an  admirable  yarn  of  an  old  couple, 
deeply  offended  at  not  being  invited  to  partake 
of  the  funeral  baked  meats  of  a  neighbor,  who  con- 
soled themselves  thus:  "Aweel,  never  ye  mind; 
maybe  we'll  be  havin'  a  corp  o'  our  ain  before 
lang,  and  we'll  no  ask  them!" 

335 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

Quite  inimitable,  too,  is  the  story  of  the  melan- 
choly cortege  which  was  proceeding,  with  an  empty 
hearse,  through  one  of  the  streets  of  Forfar.  To 
a  curious  inquirer,  one  of  its  members  made  this 
reply:  "Weel,  ye  canna  exactly  call  it  a  funeral, 
for  the  corp  has  missed  the  railway  connections!'7 

If  any  of  my  readers  are  still  in  doubt  as  to  the 
exact  connotation  of  the  adjective  " pawky/ '•  or 
question  its  entire  applicability  to  the  humor  of 
Scotland,  I  think  the  following  little  tale  will 
clear  the  matter  up.  Once  more,  it  is  the  world- 
famous  geologist  who  tells  the  story.  At  a  funeral 
in  Glasgow,  he  says,  a  stranger  had  taken  his  seat 
in  one  of  the  mourning  carriages,  clad  in  decent 
black.  His  presence  excited  the  curiosity  of  the 
other  three  occupants,  one  of  whom  could  stand 
it  no  longer,  and  thus  addressed  him: 

"Ye'U  be  a  brither  o'  the  corp?" 

"No,"  replied  the  gloomy  stranger;  "I'm  no  a 
brither  o'  the  corp!" 

"Weel,  then,"  pursued  the  curious  mourner, 
"ye'll  be  his  cousin?" 

"No,  I'm  no  that!"  was  the  still  tantalizing 
reply. 

"No!"  went  on  the  insatiate  querent;  "then 
ye'll  be  at  least  a  frien'  o'  the  corp?" 

"No  that  either,"  admitted  the  stranger.  "To 
tell  the  truth,  I've  no  been  that  weel,  mysel',  and 
as  my  doctor  has  ordered  me  some  carriage  exer- 
cise, I  thocht  this  wad  be  the  cheapest  way  to 
tak'  it!" 

Robert  Louis  Stevenson's  father  is,  I  believe, 

336 


THE  PAWKY  HUMOR  OF  SCOTLAND 

responsible  for  the  story  of  an  ancient  grave- 
digger  of  Monkton  who  lay  a-dying.  The  minister, 
having  prepared  him  for  his  future  destiny,  began 
to  talk  to  him  of  his  long  and  industrious  life,  and 
at  last  asked  him  whether  he  felt  that  he  had  any- 
thing to  regret. 

"Weel,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  Minister,  I've 
put  two  hunner  and  eighty-five  corps  in  that  kirk- 
yaird,  and  I  wuss  it  had  been  the  Lord's  wull  to 
let  me  mak'  up  the  three  hunner!" 

It  is  rapidly  becoming  evident,  I  think,  that  if 
Shakespeare  had  seen  more  deeply  into  the  matter, 
he  would  have  transferred  the  grave-digger  scene 
from  " Hamlet"  to  " Macbeth,"  and  given  the 
funeral  moralizings  of  the  melancholy  Dane  to 
the  Thane  of  Fife.  There  is  one  of  these  lugubrious 
tales  which,  I  must  own,  caused  some  misgiving 
in  my  own  mind,  when  my  English  friend  made 
the  derogatory  remark  above  quoted  concerning 
Scots  humor.  It  is  the  tale  of  a  banquet  at  Glas- 
gow, in  bygone  days,  one  of  the  guests  of  which 
was  Laird  of  Kerscadden. 

At  a  late  hour,  when  the  guests  had  absorbed 
largely  of  Glenlivet  and  other  Highland  brews, 
and,  as  is  customary  in  Scotland  at  that  stage, 
the  conversation  was  turning  to  metaphysics  and 
other  high  matters,  one  of  those  present  noted 
that  the  Laird  of  Kerscadden  was  looking  death- 
ly pale,  ghastly,  indeed,  or  as  the  good  Scot 
would  call  it,  "gash."  Thereupon  he  queried 
thus: 

"Fat  gars  Kerscadden  luik  sae  gash?"     Which, 

337 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

being  translated,  means,  "What  makes  Ker- 
scadden  look  so  pale?" 

To  this  another  guest  replied: 

"  Kerscadden's  soul  departed  to  its  Maker  twa 
hours  agone.  I  obsairved  it  at  the  time,  but  said 
naething,  no  wishin'  to  disturb  the  hilarity  of  the 
proceedings." 

But  Scots  humor  by  no  means  confines  itself 
to  the  gloomy  cerements  of  the  tomb.  On  the 
contrary,  it  plunges  boldly  into  the  Beyond. 
Classical,  of  course,  is  the  famous  theological  ex- 
position of  Calvinism,  in  "Holy  Willie's  Prayer," 
which  fine  and  genial  poem  looks,  in  popular 
editions,  somewhat  like  a  star  map.  That  pro- 
fane and  vain  babbler,  Rabbie  Burns,  there  sets 
forth  the  Calvinistic  view  of  the  Creator  thus: 

O  Thou,  wha  in  the  heavens  dost  dwell, 
Wha,  as  it  pleases  best  ThyseP, 
Sends  ane  to  heaven,  and  ten  to  hell, 

A'  for  Thy  glory; 
And  no  for  ony  glide  or  ill 

They've  done  afore  Thee.  .  .  . 

I  have  heard  a  modern  tale,  which  put  the 
Maker  of  all  the  earth  in  somewhat  the  same  light. 
It  concerns  a  sermon  delivered,  I  believe,  in  a 
Free  Kirk  place  of  worship,  to  an  assembly  of 
parishioners  who  had  more  than  the  usual  pro- 
portion of  original  sin.  The  meenister  perorated 
thus: 

"Ma  friens!  Ah  ken  ye  weel,  an'  a'  the  hard- 
ness o'  yer  hearts!  Ye  come  here  the  Sawbath 

338 


THE  PAWKY  HUMOR  OF  SCOTLAND 

morn,  wi'  yer  gude  claes  and  yer  sad  faces,  but 
ye're  no  gude,  ma  friens,  yer  bad  at  heart !  Bad  ye 
are,  and  bad  ye'll  live,  till  your  hour  comes,  and 
the  Lord  stretches  forth  His  hand  against  ye,  an' 
ye  dee!  An7  when  ye're  deid,  yer  bodies  '11  gang 
to  the  kirkyaird,  but  yer  souls  '11  gang  to  the 
hottest  pairt  o'  perdeetion! 

"And  oh,  ma  friens,  yer  souls  '11  wake  up  in 
the  hottest  pairt  o'  perdeetion,  an'  ye'll  cry  unto 
the  Maker  of  a'  the  airth,  an'  ye'll  say  unto  Him : 
'O  Lord,  Maker  of  a'  the  airth,  what  for  did  Ye 
send  us  to  the  hottest  pairt  of  perdeetion?'  An7 
the  Maker  of  a'  the  airth  '11  make  answer  an'  say 
unto  ye:  ' Because  ye  were  bad  bairnies!'  An' 
ye  will  reply  unto  the  Lord,  'O  Lord!  we  didna 
ken  we  were  bad  bairnies!'  And  the  Maker  of  a' 
the  airth  '11  answer  an'  say  unto  ye,  'Awell,  ye 
ken  it  noo!"; 

So  it  cannot  be  said  that  Scottish  humor  is 
limited  to  the  "corp."  But  it  does  tend  to  play 
about  great  issues,  and  "the  last  things,"  as  the 
theologians  call  them.  Yet  this  impulse  may  not 
spring  altogether  from  piety;  as  is  suggested  by 
a  story,  which  was  once  told  me,  concerning  a 
little  town  in  Fifeshire,  where  there  are  a  thousand 
inhabitants  and  ten  churches,  of  as  many  diffe- 
rent denominations.  It  is  said  that  a  Southron, 
a  "puir  English  body,"  who  did  not  know  any 
better,  coming  thither,  remarked  to  one  of  the 
natives:  "This  must  be  a  very  religious  town; 
so  many  churches  with  so  few  people!"  To  which 
the  native,  with  a  sniff  of  infinite  scorn,  in  part 

339 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

for  English  ignorance,  in  part  for  his  fellow- 
townsmen  whom  he  knew  so  well,  replied: 

"Releegious!  It's  no  releegion  ava';  it's  juist 
currrsedness  o'  temperrr!" 

One  cannot  do  justice  to  the  richness  of  this  in 
cold  type;  for  in  Fifeshire,  more,  perhaps,  than  in 
any  other  part  of  Scotland,  the  spoken  sentence 
does  not  move  stupidly  forward  on  a  dead  level, 
as  in  mere  English,  but  curves  up  and  down 
through  the  scale,  like  a  switchback  railway;  a 
deliberate  and  serious-minded  switchback,  of 
course,  but  an  undeniable  switchback. 

There  is  another  theme  about  which  Scots  hu- 
mor coruscates  incessantly;  a  theme  not  concerned 
with  death  or  "  perdeetion,"  though,  perhaps,  on 
the  main  road  thither.  That  sub j  ect  is  ' '  whusky. ' ' 
On  this  theme  one  of  the  best  tales  is  contributed 
by  the  great  geologist  already  laid  under  contri- 
bution. He  tells  of  two  Highlanders  discussing 
the  merits  of  a  certain  gentleman,  who  had  fallen 
under  the  displeasure  of  one  of  them,  against 
which  the  other  was  vigorously  defending  him. 
The  complainant  said: 

"Weel,  Sandy,  ye  may  say  what  ye  like,  but  I 
think  he  canna  be  a  nice  man,  whatefer!" 

"But  what  ails  ye  at  him,  Donald?" 

"Weel,  then,  I'll  juist  tell  ye!"  said  Donald, 
with  a  sniff  of  reminiscent  indignation.  "I  wass 
in  his  house  last  week,  and  he  wad  be  pourin'  me 
out  a  glass  o'  whusky;  and,  of  course,  I  cried  out, 
'Stop,  stop!'  and  wad  ye  believe  it,  he  stoppit!" 

That  reminds  me  of  a  classic  story  concerning 

340 


THE  PAWKY  HUMOR  OF  SCOTLAND 

two  other  Highlanders,  one  of  whom  observed  the 
other  to  be  wrapped  in  impenetrable  gloom.  He 
asked  the  cause,  and  the  interlocutor  at  last  re- 
luctantly replied: 

"It's  that  man  MacTavish!  He  ca'ed  me  a 
leer!" 

His  friend  tried  to  console  him,  explaining  that 
many  a  man  had  been  called  a  liar  and  had  been 
none  the  worse  for  it.  But  the  gloomy  one  with 
some  heat  replied: 

"Dammut  mon!  But  he  pruved  it!"  Which 
showed  where  the  shoe  really  pinched. 

But  we  were  talking  of  barley  brew.  Here  is 
a  slender  tale,  yet  with  a  spice  to  it.  Be  it  under- 
stood that  a  "bawbee"  is,  in  the  Scots  tongue,  a 
halfpenny,  and  you  will  understand  the  full  sig- 
nificance of  this  sign  upon  a  country  inn  in  For- 
far:  "Drunk  for  three  bawbees,  and  mortal  for 
threepence!"  It  must  have  been  a  native  of 
those  parts  who  was  so  scandalized  by  the  condi- 
tions of  things  in  a  distant  parish  in  Perth.  "This 
is  no'  a  godly  place  at  all,  at  all,"  he  said;  "they 
dinna  preach  the  gospel  here — and  they  water 
the  whusky!"  The  "gospel"  in  his  mind  prob- 
ably meaning  the  kind  of  doctrine  that  was  dished 
out  to  the  "bad  bairnies." 

Concerning  the  said  preaching  of  the  gospel, 
the  late  lamented  Dean  Ramsay  used  to  tell  the 
following  tale.  A  certain  old  "betheral,"  which 
is  to  say,  bealle,  had  received  a  brother  "betheral" 
from  a  neighboring  parish,  coming  with  the  min- 
ister thereof  to  preach,  instead  of  the  regular  in- 

341 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

cumbent,  for  some  special  occasion.  After  ser- 
vice, the  strange  clergyman's  "betheral"  feeling 
proud  of  the  way  in  which  his  "meenister"  had  ac- 
quitted himself  of  his  task,  remarked  in  a  trium- 
phant tone  to  his  friend: 

"I  think  our  meenister  did  weel;  ay,  he  gars 
the  stour  flee  out  o'  the  cushion!"  That  is,  he 
banged  the  cushion  on  the  pulpit  desk  so  hard 
that  he  made  the  dust  fly. 

To  which  the  home  " betheral/7  not  so  easily  to 
be  outdone,  made  answer:  "He  garred  the  stour 
flee  out  o'  the  cushion!  hout!  our  meenister,  sin' 
he  cam'  wi'  us,  has  dinged  the  guts  out  o'  twa 
Bibles!"  Which  hardly  needs  to  be  rendered  into 
the  vernacular. 

There  are  many  Scots  jests  which  judiciously 
mingle  the  two  great  comic  elements — namely, 
theology  and  "whusky."  For  example,  the  tale 
of  a  certain  minister  who  reproached  his  "  bethe- 
ral" somewhat  severely  for  always  coming  home 
"fou',"  which  is  to  say,  full,  which  is  to  say,  very 
drunk. 

"Now,  John,"  said  the  minister,  "I  go  through 
the  parish,  and  you  don't  see  me  return  fou', 
as  you  have  done!" 

To  which  John  the  incorrigible  replied:  "Ay, 
meenister;  but  then  aiblins  ye're  no  sae  popular 
in  the  parish  as  me!" 

Yet  another  anecdote  is  linked  to  this  by  the 
beautiful  word  "aiblins,"  meaning  "perhaps." 
It  is  concerned  with  a  rather  backward  student 
of  the  catechism,  who  was  asked  by  his  easy- 

342 


THE  PAWKY  HUMOR  OF  SCOTLAND 

going  and  kind-hearted  minister  what  the  latter 
thought  would  be  a  particularly  simple  question: 
"How  many  Commandments  are  there?"  The 
boy  scratched  his  head,  shifted  from  one  foot  to 
the  other,  peered  up  at  the  minister,  and  hazarded 
the  reply: 

"Aiblins  a  hunner!" 

Departing  somewhat  abashed  from  the  minis- 
ter's house,  he  met  another  candidate  for  cate- 
chetical honors,  whom  he  cautiously  sounded 
thus: 

"Weel,  what  will  ye  say  noo  if  the  meenister 
asks  ye  how  mony  Commandments  there  are?" 

"Say?"  cried  the  other,  full  of  self-conscious 
science.  "Why,  I  shall  say  ten,  to  be  sure!" 

"Ten?"  snorted  the  other,  with  infinite  con- 
tempt. "Try  ye  him  wi'  ten!  I  tried  him  wi'  a 
hunner,  and  he  wasna  satisfeed!" 

Of  a  certain  old-fashioned  minister,  the  Rev- 
erend Alexander  Shirra  by  name,  it  is  recorded 
that,  as  he  got  well  on  in  years,  he  acquired  the 
habit  of  thinking  aloud,  as  he  read  from  the  Gude 
Buik  in  the  kirk.  He  was  once  reading  from  the 
hundred  and  sixteenth  Psalm,  when  he  came  to 
the  verse:  "I  said  in  my  haste  all  men  are  liars!" 
His  mind  began  to  work,  and  he  went  on,  quite 
unconsciously,  but  also  quite  audibly:  "Indeed, 
Dauvid,  an  ye  had  been  i'  this  parish,  ye  might 
hae  said  it  at  your  leesure!" 

It  is  recorded  that  one  of  his  parishioners  once 
purchased  a  pair  of  nether  garments  which  pleased 
him  inordinately;  a  pleasure  which  he  sought  to 

23  343 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

share  with  the  rest  of  the  congregation  by  walking 
slowly  and  conspicuously  up  and  down  the  aisle. 
The  minister  stood  it  for  a  while,  and  then  broke 
out: 

"Oh,  mon,  will  ye  sit  down,  an'  we'll  see  yer 
new  breeks  when  the  kirk's  done!" 

Two  of  the  best  Scots  tales  illustrate  the  figure 
which,  in  the  kindred  art  of  music,  is  called  cres- 
cendo. The  first  is  of  the  plain  people;  the  second 
deals  with  their  "betters,"  as  the  catechism  puts 
it.  For  the  first,  Dean  Ramsay's  father  is  re- 
sponsible. Riding  home  one  evening,  he  passed 
a  small  farm-house,  where  there  was  a  consider- 
able assemblage  of  people  and  incipient  merry- 
making for  some  festive  occasion.  When  the 
good  gentleman  asked  one  of  the  lassies  stand- 
ing by  what  it  was  all  about,  she  answered: 

"Ou,  it's  juist  a  wedding  of  Jock  Thompson  and 
Janet  Fraser!" 

Mr.  Ramsay  then  asked  three  questions: 

"Is  the  bride  rich?" 

To  which  the  lassie  replied,  "Na." 

"Is  she  young?" 

"Naa!" 

"Is  she  bonny?" 

"Naaa!" 

Here  is  the  same  figure  in  a  more  aristocratic 
key:  The  Marquis  of  Lothian,  a  peppery  noble- 
man with  fine  manners  of  the  olden  time,  had  as 
his  guest  a  certain  countess,  very  charming  but 
very  deaf,  a  fact  which  was  unknown  to  her  dis- 
tinguished host.  Early  in  the  repast,  the  mar- 

344 


THE  PAWKY  HUMOR  OF  SCOTLAND 

quis,  turning  to  the  countess  with  a  lordly  bow, 
asked  her: 

"  Madam,  may  I  have  the  honor  and  happiness 
of  helping  your  ladyship  to  some  fish?77 

The  countess  failed  to  hear  or  respond.  The 
marquis  repeated  his  inquiry,  but  with  a  slight 
rise  in  temperature: 

"  Madam,  may  I  have  your  ladyship's  permis- 
sion to  send  you  some  fish?"  The  same — that  is 
to  say,  no  reply — from  the  countess. 

For  the  third  time  the  marquis  asked: 

"Is  your  ladyship  inclined  to  take  fish?" 

Still  vsilence. 

"  Madam,  do  you  choice  fish?" 

Then  finally: 

"  Confound  ye,  will  ye  have  any  fish?" 

We  are  now  in  a  position  to  meet  and  refute 
certain  calumnies  evidently  born  of  an  invidious 
spirit,  which  came  from  the  flat  country  south  of 
the  Tweed.  For  example,  that  tale  of  Charles 
Lamb,  who  was  invited  to  a  party  to  meet  a 
Colonel  Burns,  the  son  of  the  author  of  "Holy 
Willie's  Prayer."  Charles  Lamb  happened  to 
say  that  he  wished  it  had  been  the  father  he  was 
to  meet,  and,  he  says,  several  Scotchmen  present 
at  once  explained  that  that  would  be  impossible, 
because  Robert  Burns  was  dead!  We  are  now 
in  a  position  to  declare  authoritatively  that  this 
remark  sprang  not  from  a  lack  of  the  sense  of 
humor,  but  from  an  excess  of  it,  mingled  with  a 
sly  desire  to  impose  on  the  "English  body's" 
credulity.  In  which  the  Caledonians  were  so 

345 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

successful,  that  Charles  Lamb  brought  the  story 
back  to  London  and  told  it  to  the  end  of  his  days. 
So,  of  that  peevish  remark  of  Sydney  Smith: 
"It  requires  a  surgical  operation  io  get  a  joke 
well  into  a  Scotch  understanding.  Their  only 
idea  of  wit,  which  prevails  occasionally  in  the 
north,  and  which,  under  the  name  of  wut,  is  so 
infinitely  distressing  to  people  of  good  taste,  is 
laughing  immoderately  at  stated  intervals." 

We  all  know  the  Scots  answer  to  that  aspersion 
about  the  surgical  operation  and  the  joke:  "Ou 
ay!  an  English  joke!"  The  point  is  well  taken, 
and  one  suspects  that  some  of  Sydney  Smith's 
rancor  may  be  due  to  the  fact  that  his  own  joke 
thus  suffered.  They  were  evidently  not  pawky 
enough. 

Lastly,  brethren,  to  close  this  discourse,  and 
once  more  to  illustrate  the  adjective  I  have  chosen 
to  characterize  the  humor  of  Caledonia,  let  me 
record  this  observation  of  a  Scottish  host  to  one 
of  his  countrymen,  who  was  visiting  him,  as  they 
stood,  at  evening,  on  the  threshold  of  the  house- 
door: 

"It's  wat;  but  it's  no  wee  tin'!  It's  darrk; 
but,  losh,  mon,  ye  can  see!  Ye  may  bide  if  ye 
like;  but  if  Ah  was  you,  Ah  wad  gang!" 

In  telling  this  story,  pray,  gentle  reader,  do  not 
forget  the  word  "losh,"  which  adds  local  color 
and  infinite  pawkiness. 


XXIX 

HUMOR   OF  THE   ANCIENT  HIBERNIANS 

NOT  very  long  ago  I  had  a  brilliant  intuition 
concerning  Irish  humor.  It  came  upon  me 
in  a  flash  of  inspiration  that  the  essence  of  Irish 
humor  is,  that  it  is  not  humorous  at  all.  It  is 
simply  the  Irishman's  way  of  saying  the  thing 
in  the  best  and  most  direct  manner  possible.  The 
scintillant  effect  comes  from  the  quality  of  his 
mind  and  his  power  of  thinking,  feeling,  and  say- 
ing two  wholly  incompatible  things  at  the  same 
time. 

Yet  I  flatter  myself  when  I  say  that  it  was  I 
who  had  this  inspiration.  Rather  it  was  forced 
on  me  by  a  lively  and  pathetic  little  old  Irishman, 
who  was  wholly  unconscious  that  he  was  saying 
anything  out  of  the  common.  And  I  think  that, 
for  him,  it  was  in  all  likelihood  not  out  of  the  com- 
mon. He  looked  as  if  he  could  do  it  all  the  time 
and  never  even  know  it. 

The  time  was  the  festal  day  of  the  Hudson- 
Fulton  celebration.  The  place  was  Grant's  Tomb, 
where  was  gathered  a  motley  throng  eager  to  see 
the  goodly  showing  of  war-ships  of  all  flags,  the 
little  high-pooped  Half-Moon,  the  Clermont,  and 

347 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

the  rest.  My  little  old  Irishman  was  full  of  ear- 
nest enthusiasm.  He  was  also  short  of  stature. 
So  he  climbed  on  a  bench  and  craned  his  little, 
scrawny  neck  over  the  crowd,  only  to  be  yanked 
down  by  a  relentless  big  man  in  gray.  He  looked 
hurt,  but  said  nothing;  and,  climbing  up  the  stairs, 
tried  to  get  on  one  of  the  stone  ridges  of  the  tomb ; 
but  another  big  man  in  gray  again  abstracted  him. 
Then,  sad  but  undaunted,  he  tried  to  mount  the 
railings  of  Li  Hung  Chang's  gingko-tree;  again  a 
big  man  in  gray  grabbed  him.  Then  he  gave  up 
in  despair,  and,  rather  in  sorrow  than  in  anger, 
said:  "Ye  can't  look  at  anny thing  frum  where 
ye  can  see  it  frum!"  and  faded  into  the  crowd. 

That  was  some  years  ago.  I  have  spent 
much  time,  during  those  years,  trying  to  say 
the  same  thing  in  fewer  or  as  few  words;  with 
the  result  that  I  have  come  to  the  matured  con- 
clusion that  this  funny,  pathetic  Irishman  had 
intuitively  hit  on  the  very  best  way  possible  of 
expressing  a  complex  and  difficult  thought,  and 
had  done  it  without  any  consciousness  of  the  feat 
he  was  accomplishing. 

Another  instance.  This  was  at  Newcastle,  in 
County  Down,  under  the  lovely  purple  shadows 
of  the  Mourne  Mountains.  It  was  a  holiday, 
and  there  was  to  be  a  consequent  rearrangement 
of  the  evening  trains,  carrying  excursions  back  to 
their  homes.  The  railway  porter  at  Newcastle 
station  studied  the  facts  and  hours,  got  the  whole 
thing  clear  in  his  head,  and,  coming  forth  to  the 
crowd  on  the  platform,  thus  announced:  "The 

348 


HUMOR  OF  THE  ANCIENT  HIBERNIANS 

.  ten  o'clock  train  '11  go  at  eleven  o'clock  to-night, 
and  there'll  be  no  last  train!"  That  is  what  is 
usually  called  an  Irish  bull.  It  is  really  the  re- 
sult of  an  unconscious  genius  expressing  a  fact 
in  the  shortest  possible  way.  Try  it  yourself, 
and  see  if  you  come  anywhere  near  it. 

Yet  another  instance:  this  time  the  expression 
of  a  social  situation  which  we  have  all  faced  at 
one  time  or  another,  but,  I  apprehend,  without 
the  advantage  of  Hibernian  genius.  Mr.  Murphy 
and  Mr. — well,  let  us  say  Mr.  O'Flaherty,  as  this 
takes  the  story  out  of  politics,  and,  besides,  I 
mean  a  different  Murphy.  Well,  the  said  gentle- 
man had  had  a  falling-out,  and  the  feud  was  taken 
up  by  their  loyal  spouses.  It  befell,  however, 
that  there  was  a  ball  at  the  County  Assembly 
Rooms,  and,  by  a  curious  accident,  it  likewise  be- 
fell that  the  two  ladies  indicated  came  a  half- 
hour  early  to  the  hall,  to  find  a  wide  untenanted 
space  smiled  down  on  by  green  flags  and  Gaelic 
mottos.  These  they  surveyed  for  a  time  with 
absorbed  attention,  and  studied  oblivion  of  each 
other's  presence  in  a  silence  that  could  be  felt. 
Finally  Mrs.  O'Flaherty  could  stand  it  no 
longer.  So,  coming  up  to  the  other  one,  she 
spoke  thus,  with  a  warm  voice  and  an  engaging 
smile : 

"And  is  that  you,  Mrs.  Murphy?    And  how  is 

V  Murphy?  Not  that  I  give  a  damn,  but  just  for 
conversation!" 

Without  question,  that  complies  with  Pope's 
definition: 

349 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

True  wit  is  nature  to  advantage  dressed, 

What  oft  was  thought,  but  ne'er  so  well  expressed. 

Here,  then,  in  these  three  cases,  the  essence  of  Irish 
humor  consists  in  the  fact  that  it  is  not  humorous 
at  all,  but  simply  the  shortest  and  best  possible 
way  of  saying  something,  attained  by  an  inherent 
genius  for  feeling  and  thinking  two  things  at  once. 
There  is  always  a  thought,  generally  a  double 
thought,  in  an  Irish  bull,  so-called;  which  is, 
perhaps,  why  Professor  Mahaffy  used  to  say: 
"The  Irish  bull  is  pregnant."  Always  a  double 
measure  of  thought.  At  least  so  I  believed, 
until  the  other  day,  when,  on  the  upper  West 
Side,  I  chanced  to  overhear  a  conversation  be- 
tween two  nurse-maids,  who  had  about  them  an 
atmosphere  of  the  County  Kerry. 

They  were  wheeling  perambulators,  and  one  of 
them  was  one  of  those  double-enders,  which  repre- 
sent a  terrible  shock  to  a  father's  feelings  when 
the  doctor  holds  up  two  fingers  and  announces 
"Twins!"  The  maid  who  was  wheeling  only  one 
babe  was,  nevertheless,  courteously  appreciative  of 
the  double  charms  of  the  other's  charges.  She 
looked  at  them,  admired  them,  chucked  them 
under  the  chins,  goo-gooed  at  them,  and  finally 
said: 

"Oh,  the  lovely  little  craytures!  And  do  they 
both  look  alike?" 

To  this  moment  I  have  a  haunting  suspicion 
that  she  may  have  meant  something  uncommonly 
wise  and  deep,  and  that  the  failure  to  discern  it 

350 


HUMOR  OF  THE  ANCIENT  HIBERNIANS 

is  a  shortcoming  of  my  own.  Should  any  kind 
reader  catch  her  thought,  I  should  be  glad  to 
know  of  it. 

Yet  these  are  modern  frivolities,  while  my  ex- 
pressed intention  is  to  write  of  Hibernian  humor 
of  ancient  days;  humor  contemporary,  in  all 
likelihood,  with  satirical  Horace  and  witty  Lu- 
cian,  and  the  fantastical-comical  author  of  "The 
Golden  Ass." 

The  best  of  these  ancient  stories,  and  in  some 
ways  the  finest  Irish  story  ever  told,  is  found  in 
the  great  Celtic  manuscript  entitled  "The  Book  of 
Leinster,"  and  records  the  adventure  of  King 
MacDatho's  Pig. 

MacDatho  was  a  famous  king  of  Leinster,  and 
his  fortress  rath  was  in  sight  of  the  Wicklow  Hills. 
He  had  a  hound  named  Ailbe,  the  like  of  which 
was  not  known  in  all  of  the  kingdoms  of  Erin;  so 
that  the  princes  and  warriors  of  Erin  coveted  it. 
Whether  for  hunting  or  keeping  guard,  never  was 
there  such  a  hound  as  Ailbe. 

So  fierce  was  the  longing  of  the  princes  and 
warriors  for  the  hound  that  they  sent  embassies 
to  Leinster  to  try  to  barter  for  it  with  the  king: 
embassies  from  the  royal  rath  of  Cruachan  in 
Connaught,  and  from  the  great  kingly  rath  of 
Emain  'neath  the  beech-trees,  in  the  heart  of 
Ulad,  in  the  north.  And  it  befell  that  these  two 
embassies  arrived  in  the  same  day  at  the  royal 
fort  rath  of  MacDatho,  King  of  Leinster. 

MacDatho's  heart  was  disturbed  within  him 
when  he  saw  the  two  famous  great  embassies  of 

351 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

the  warriors  of  the  west  and  north,  so  that  his 
queen,  perturbed,  asked  him  the  cause  of  his  gloom. 

"But,"  said  he,  "what  will  it  profit  me  to 
tell  it  to  you,  for  when  was  there  ever  wisdom  or 
prudence  in  the  heart  of  a  woman?" 

Nevertheless  he  told  her,  and  she  found  in  her 
heart,  if  not  wisdom,  yet  guile  and  craft  and 
strategy  to  bring  him  out  of  his  perplexity.  For 
she  counseled  him  to  promise  the  great  hound  to 
both,  to  the  men  of  Connaught  and  to  the  men 
of  Ulster,  leaving  them  to  settle  it  between  them, 
for  thus  would  Leinster  be  rid  of  many  a  foe. 

So  MacDatho  received  the  embassy  of  Con- 
naught,  the  embassy  of  King  Ailill  and  Queen 
Maeve,  she  that  was  bride  to  Conchobar,  and 
then  fled  away  from  him  to  Ailill;  and  the  men 
of  Connaught  offered  MacDatho  a  thousand  kine 
and  a  yoke  of  steeds  and  a  chariot  for  the  great 
dog;  and  he  told  them  he  would  give  the  hound 
to  them  for  that.  And  then,  in  his  seven-gated 
great  rath,  and  in  his  hall,  MacDatho  heard  of 
the  ambassadors  of  Ulster,  and  they  offered  him 
flocks  and  herds  for  the  hound;  and  he  promised 
Ailbe  to  them  for  that.  So  MacDatho  made  a  ban- 
quet for  the  ambassadors,  the  men  of  Connaught 
and  the  men  of  Ulster,  and  they  sat  down  together. 
And  at  the  long,  heavily  burdened  tables  of  the 
banquet  were  many  bodies  of  sheep  and  oxen; 
but  chiefest  was  the  pig  of  MacDatho,  for  three 
hundred  cows  had  fed  it  with  the  best  of  their 
milk  for  seven  years,  so  that  the  like  of  it  had  never 
been  seen  in  Erin. 

352 


HUMOR  OF  THE  ANCIENT  HIBERNIANS 

"That  pig  looks  good!"  said  Conchobar,  King 
of  Emain. 

"Of  a  truth  it  does/'  answered  Ailill,  of  Crua- 
chan;  "but  how  shall  it  be  carved,  O  Concho- 
bar?" 

"What  more  simple  than  that  in  this  hall  where 
sit  the  glorious  heroes  of  Erin?"  cried  Bricriu,  of 
the  sharp  tongue,  the  most  quarrelsome  man  in 
Erin;  "to  each  man  his  share,  according  to  his 
fights  and  deeds;  but  before  the  shares  are  dis- 
tributed more  than  one  rap  on  the  nose  will  have 
been  given  and  taken." 

"So  be  it!"  said  Ailill,  of  Connaught. 

"It  is  fair,"  said  Conchobar,  "for  we  have  with 
us  our  best  warriors,  the  defense  of  our  frontiers 
against  the  men  of  Erin!" 

Then  Get,  son  of  Maga,  great  among  the  war- 
riors of  Connaught,  arose  in  his  place  at  the  table 
and  proclaimed  that  he  should  have  the  right  to 
carve  the  milk-fed  pig.  But  Angus,  son  of  Dan- 
ger Arm,  of  the  men  of  Ulster,  rose  to  dispute  it, 
saying  that  he  himself  should  carve. 

"Who  is  this?"  said  Cet,  "and  how  comes  he 
by  his  name?  Do  you  not  know  that  it  was  I 
that  beat  your  father,  casting  a  javelin  at  him 
and  piercing  his  arm,  so  that  they  call  him  Danger 
Arm  to  this  day?  How,  then,  are  you  the  better 
man?" 

So  Angus  sat  down  abashed.  But  Eogan  rose, 
from  among  the  warriors  of  Ulster,  and  said  that 
he  should  carve  at  the  banquet. 

"Who  is  this?"  said  Cet— "this  man  with  the 

353 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

one  eye?  Is  not  this  Eogan,  that  I  fought  against 
and  sent  a  strong,  great  javelin  against  him,  pierc- 
ing his  eye  so  that  he  is  half  blind  to  this 
day?  How  can  he  claim  to  be  the  better 
man?" 

Then  Munremur  of  Ulster  arose,  and  said  that 
he  should  carve  the  pig. 

"Who  is  this?'7  said  Get.  "Is  not  this  Mun- 
remur, whose  eldest  son  I  slew,  and  he  could  not 
defend  him  against  me?" 

So  Munremur  sat  down  abashed  in  his  place 
at  the  table. 

Then  Mend,  son  of  Crutches,  rose  and  said  that 
he  should  carve  at  the  king's  banquet. 

"Who  is  this?"  said  Get.  "Is  it  not  Mend, 
whose  father  I  fought  and  pierced  his  legs  with 
a  javelin,  so  that  he  limps  to  this  day?  How  is 
he  the  better  man?" 

Then  Celtecar,  son  of  Utecar,  rose,  he  who  came 
from  the  mouth  of  the  Quoile  and  the  fort  by  the 
rushy  reaches  of  the  river. 

"Who  is  this?"  said  Get — "this  brave  warrior 
of  Ulster?  Is  it  not  he  that  I  fought  and  wounded 
in  the  thigh,  so  that  he  limps  in  his  walk,  and  goes 
halting?" 

Then  up  rose  Cuscraid,  speaking  huskily,  and 
said  that  he  as  bravest  of  the  warriors  of  Ulster 
should  carve  at  MacDatho's  banquet. 

"Who  is  this?"  asked  Get;  "and  why  does  he 
speak  huskily,  so  that  the  warriors  cannot  hear 
him?  Is  not  this  Cuscraid?  And  did  I  not  fight 
hull,  sending  an  arrow  against  him  and  piercing 

354 


HUMOR  OF  THE  ANCIENT  HIBERNIANS 

him  through  the  throat,  so  that  he  speaks  huskily 
even  now?  How  is  he  the  better  man?" 

There  was  a  stir  about  the  doorway,  and  in 
strode  Conall  Cearnach,  of  the  warriors  of  Ulster, 
his  arm  covered  with  his  red  cloak.  And,  as  he 
entered,  Get,  of  Connaught,  was  boasting,  saying 
that  he  should  carve,  for  not  one  of  the  warriors 
of  Ulster  was  fit  to  stand  against  him. 

Then  Conall  Cearnach  stood  and  looked  at 
him,  and  the  two  eyes  of  Cet  fell  before  the  eyes 
of  Conall. 

"Who  is  this,"  asked  Conall,  "that  boasts  him- 
self to  be  the  better  man,  and  how  can  he  claim 
it  while  I  am  here?  Have  I  not  fought  in  the 
armies  of  Ulster,  so  that  never  a  day  or  a  night 
passed  that  I  did  not  slay  an  enemy?  Ever  since 
I  first  bore  a  weapon  and  learned  to  fight  and  to 
combat,  not  often  have  I  lacked  the  head  of  a 
Connaught  man  for  my  pillow  in  the  evening!" 

"I  confess  it,"  said  Cet.  "Conall,  thou  art  a 
greater  warrior  than  I.  Nevertheless,  if  Anluan, 
of  Connaught,  were  here  you  would  not  dare  to 
carve  at  this  table." 

Then  Conall  Cearnach  rose  in  his  seat  and  took 
a  head  from  under  his  cloak,  where  he  had  it 
grasped  by  the  long  hair  in  his  hand.  "Anluan 
is  here!"  he  answered.  "Nevertheless,  I  shall 
carve  at  the  banquet!" 

Fain  would  I  stay  to  recount  the  great  and 
bloody  and  monster  combat  between  the  strong, 
valiant  warriors  of  Erin,  and  to  relate  how  the 
Ulster  men  triumphed  and  the  Connaught  men 

355 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

fled;  likewise,  how  the  great  hound  Ailbe  pur- 
sued after  the  chariot  of  Ailill,  King  of  Connaught, 
and  caught  the  axle  in  his  teeth,  holding  on  until 
Ailill  hacked  the  head  of  the  hound  from  its 
body;  and  how,  even  then,  the  hound's  jaws  kept 
fast  hold  of  the  axle;  but  space  forbids;  therefore 
I  must  terminate  the  true  tragedy  of  MacDatho's 

Pig. 

Ossian,  the  tuneful  son  of  Finn  McCoul,  the 
perfect  poet  whose  name  has  echoed  down  through 
seventeen  centuries,  besides  being  a  poet  was 
something  of  a  humorist,  too.  There  still  remains 
a  poem  attributed  to  golden-tongued  Ossian, 
which  is  worthy  of  a  place  among  the  great  hu- 
mor esques  of  the  world. 

Very  amusingly,  Ossian  takes  as  the  target  of 
his  humor  his  own  mighty  father,  Finn  McCoul, 
and  his  own  tuneful  self.  He  relates  the  adven- 
tures of  Finn  at  a  great  race-meet  in  the  plain 
of  Munster,  and  tells,  with  infinite  zest,  how  Finn 
won  the  great  race  of  the  day  and  how  the  King 
of  Munster  presented  him  with  a  coal-black  steed 
as  a  reward  of  his  horsemanship.  Finn,  like  the 
genuine  Irishman  he  was,  must  needs  try  the  big 
black  horse,  and  so  he  set  forth  westward  toward 
the  ocean  and  galloped  his  new  horse  along  the 
great  white  strand  at  Tralee,  on  the  Kerry  head- 
land. Then  he  turned  south,  toward  Killarney's 
lakes,  stopping  at  every  inn  to  boast  of  his  steed 
and  to  sample  the  local  brew. 

So  it  befell  that  Finn,  and  Ossian,  who  accom- 
panied him,  being  at  sundown  among  the  purple 

356 


HUMOR  OF  THE  ANCIENT  HIBERNIANS 

hills  about  Killarney,  entered  a  certain  carpeted 
vale,  wherein  they  saw  a  strange  habitation  that, 
for  all  their  hunting  of  the  red  deer  on  those  hills, 
they  had  never  seen  or  heard  of  before.  They 
came  to  the  door  and  halted  in  sudden  horror;  for 
there,  at  the  right  side  of  the  entrance,  sat  twelve 
headless  men,  while  at  the  left  side  were  ranged 
in  a  gruesome  row  their  missing  heads. 

Nor  was  this  all;  for  Finn  and  Ossian,  com- 
pelled by  magical  force  to  enter  the  hall  of  doom, 
were  presently  witnesses  of  a  dire  and  dreadful 
match  of  bowls,  wherein  the  headless  men  played 
against  one  another,  rolling  the  loose  heads  along 
the  floor.  Such  was  their  horror  that  Finn  and 
Ossian  presently  swooned  away. 

When  morning  dawned,  the  warrior  poet  and  his 
wise  old  father,  to  their  infinite  wonder,  found 
themselves  lying  on  the  purple  heather  of  the 
hillside,  their  horses  browsing  tranquilly  near  by, 
while  of  the  weird  house  and  its  inhabitants  there 
was  not  a  trace.  Only  in  their  heads  there  was  a 
strange  feeling,  compounded  of  numbness  and  of 
pain. 

Thus  with  charm  and  fancy  does  famed  Ossian 
describe  "the  morning  after  the  night  before," 
leaving  it  to  us  to  divine  whether  he  and  his  father 
went  back  to  those  inns  to  seek  medicine  for  their 
strange  malady. 

Have  you  ever  heard  of  the  modern  Irishman 
who,  when  reproached  with  his  childless  state, 
boldly  affirmed  that  "it  was  hereditary  in  his 
family  to  have  no  children"?  He  did  not  know 

357 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

it;  but  he  was  only  parodying  a  far  finer  saying 
of  a  far  greater  Hibernian — namely,  King  Brian 
of  Munster,  he  of  the  Boruma  tribute. 

Brian,  like  earlier  Alfred  of  England,  fought  for 
long  years  against  the  Danes.  Once  he  had  lost 
almost  everything,  and  was  pent  up  in  the  forests 
of  Clare,  when  his  brother  Mahon  came  to  him, 
begging  him  to  surrender  to  the  black  Norsemen, 
lest  the  land  should  be  altogether  destroyed. 

Brian  magnificently  replied  that  this  was  no 
good  counsel;  it  was  not  natural  for  him  or 
his  clan  to  submit  to  insult  and  contempt;  for 
neither  his  father  nor  his  grandfather  had 
ever  surrendered  or  submitted  to  insult;  there- 
fore he  concluded  that  it  was  not  hereditary  in 
his  family  to  surrender.  But  if  he  fought  the 
black  Norsemen,  he  would  either  conquer  them  or 
die;  and  he  did  not  fear  death,  for  his  father  had 
died,  and  his  grandfather  before  them,  and  their 
fathers'  fathers.  Therefore  he  concluded  that  it 
was  hereditary  in  his  family  to  die. 


XXX 

AMERICAN  HUMOR  BEFORE   COLUMBUS 

YES ;  and  not  only  before  Columbus,  but 
older  than  our  era;  nay,  even  earlier  than 
the  year  of  the  first  Olympiad  or  the  founding  of 
the  mighty  city  Rome.  American  humor  not 
less  ancient  than  three  millenniums,  and  vouched 
for,  not  only  by  ancient  and  veridical  chronicles, 
but  also  by  the  very  matter  of  the  jests. 

One  characteristic  of  modern  American  humor 
is  a  profane  tendency  to  get  gay  with  the  sancti- 
ties, as  where  the  Yankee  interviews  King  Arthur, 
or  the  other  Yankee,  at  least  by  adoption,  inter- 
views the  Emperor  of  Russia  or  the  mortal  vestiges 
of  an  Egyptian  mummy  or  the  memorials  of  the 
great  Christopher  Columbus  himself.  I  suppose 
this  characteristic  of  humor  stands  out  here,  in 
America,  because  this  country,  having  laid  its  foun- 
dation by  bidding  defiance  to  kings,  thought  itself 
well  within  its  right  in  cracking  jokes  at  them. 
Yet  this  is  not  the  final  essence  of  American 
humor;  but  of  that  later. 

Well,  it  happens  that  the  most  ancient  humor 
of  America,  which  has  to  its  credit,  as  I  have  said, 
not  less  than  three  thousand  years,  and  probably 

24  359 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

many  more,  has  as  a  characteristic  quality  a  certain 
levity  and  mockery  of  no  less  a  subject  than  the 
creation  itself;  as  though,  perhaps,  the  matter 
was  recent  enough  in  those  days  to  be  still  regarded 
as  funny;  or,  perhaps,  because  the  Americans  of 
that  day  had  not  lived  long  enougn  to  realize  how 
far  certain  aspects  of  the  creation  of  mankind  are 
from  being  a  joke.  But  certain  it  is  that  nothing 
less  than  the  august  creation  of  that  most  august 
of  creatures,  man,  is  the  theme  of  pre-Olympian 
American  wit.  And  it  is  not  only  that  the  philos- 
ophers of  the  ancient  American  races  have  given 
an  account  of  the  origin  of  things,  which,  while 
solemn  earnest  for  them,  may  seem  very  funny 
to  us;  on  the  contrary,  they  intended  to  be  funny, 
especially  in  the  second  of  the  two  stories  which  I 
shall  relate;  they  were  laying  themselves  out  to 
catch  a  laugh;  so  they  fully  merit  the  title  of 
humorists,  not  only  by  grace,  but  also  of  malice 
prepense. 

Viewing,  perhaps,  the  manifold  contradictions 
of  man,  to  say  nothing  of  the  helpmeet,  seeing 
him  at  one  time  in  action  like  an  angel,  at  another 
time  but  a  quintessence  of  dust,  these  prehistoric 
reasoners  and  seers,  whose  descendants  long  after 
built  Palenque  and  Copan,  decided,  it  would  seem, 
that  the  creators,  or  whoever  might  be  responsible, 
had  not  made  of  mankind  a  very  creditable  job; 
they  had  in  view  the  same  sort  of  facts  which  led 
later  theologians  to  develop  the  dogma  of  the  fall 
of  Adam,  and  of  original  sin.  But  they  managed 
not  to  lay  all  the  blame  on  Adam,  nor  on  the  help- 

360 


AMERICAN  HUMOR  BEFORE  COLUMBUS 

meet,  who  has  borne  the  greater  part  of  it  ever 
since,  nor  even  on  the  suggestive  ophidian  who 
ministered  to  the  general  result;  the  ancient 
Americans  have,  very  deftly,  and  without  un- 
seemly irreverence,  shifted  a  great  part  of  the 
blame  to  the  formative  powers  themselves;  affirm- 
ing that  these  not  only  did  not  succeed  very  well 
with  the  matter  in  hand,  but,  further,  and  in  this 
they  anticipated  Darwin,  that  the  said  powers  only 
reached  such  qualified  success  as  stands  to  their 
credit,  after  a  good  many  bungling  failures. 

In  the  Popul  Vuh,  the  sacred  book  of  Guate- 
mala, which  was  dim  with  age  before  the  Span- 
iards came,  these  things  are  written.  There  is 
majesty,  there  is  pathos  in  the  creative  record, 
and,  what  makes  for  our  purpose,  there  is  rich 
humor,  too.  The  powers,  who  have  very  lovely 
designations  that  we  must  skip  over,  saw  the  earth 
without  form  and  void;  it  could  not  pray  to  them; 
it  could  not  adore  them.  So  they  commanded  the 
earth  to  come  forth  from  the  waters,  and  the 
mountains  appeared  rising  above  the  expanse  like 
the  backs  of  lobsters.  But  the  mountains  could 
not  pray  nor  adore,  so  the  powers  made  forests 
come  forth;  these,  to  break  their  silence,  they 
decked  with  stags  and  jaguars,  cougars,  and  birds 
and  serpents.  But  all  these,  though  they  tried, 
could  neither  pray  nor  adore.  So  the  powers 
took  counsel  together,  and  of  the  earth  they 
formed  men,  of  clay  skilfully  molded  and 
shaped.  But  these  men  of  clay  lived  after  their 
kind;  they  were  of  the  earth,  and  they  acted  as 

361 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

earth;  dull,  vague,  forgetful,  though  they  had 
speech,  they  neither  adored  nor  prayed.  And, 
worst  of  all,  when  the  rain  came,  they  got  wet 
and  melted  away. 

So  the  formative  powers  tried  again.  This  time 
they  took  a  material  which  would,  at  least,  be 
water-tight.  They  shaped  new  men,  this  time 
carving  them  out  of  wood;  wooden  they  were  in 
source,  wooden  they  were  in  nature.  And  here 
I  am  assailed  by  misgivings  whether  these  an- 
tique sages  had  not  in  view,  in  their  wooden  dolls 
of  men,  some  such  creatures  as  ourselves,  who 
lord  it  so  sovereignly  over  things,  knocking  the 
lesser  creatures  about  as  though  they  owned  them, 
and,  just  like  the  men  of  mud,  forgetting  to  adore 
and  to  pray;  forgetting  the  great  well-spring  of 
Life,  their  source  and  home.  Be  that  as  it  may, 
the  powers  decided  that  these  wooden-doll  men 
would  not  do  at  all;  so  they  prepared  a  cataclysm 
for  them,  and,  somewhat  illogically,  as  it  seems  to 
me,  decided  that  they  should  be  destroyed  by  a 
flood,  whereas  for  wooden-doll  men  and  women 
one  would  have  thought  destruction  by  fire  much 
more  appropriate.  And  it  seems  that  the  antique 
sages  had  something  of  this  qualification  in  their 
own  minds;  for  the  deluge  did  little  more  than 
soak  the  spirit  out  of  the  wooden-doll  men  and 
women,  and  left  at  least  enough  of  them  animate 
to  be  punished  some  more. 

And  here  comes  genuine  humor,  somewhat 
grim,  and,  so  far  as  I  know,  quite  unprecedented 
in  this  august  field.  These  wooden-doll  men  and 

362 


AMERICAN  HUMOR  BEFORE  COLUMBUS 

women,  we  are  informed,  saw  their  late  possessions 
come  up  before  them,  now  richly  endowed  with 
speech,  if  not  to  adore  and  pray,  at  least  to  berate 
and  objurgate  their  late  masters  and  mistresses, 
for  the  helpmeet  comes  in  for  equal  measure.  To 
say  nothing  of  the  wild  things  of  the  forest,  which 
they  had  unwarrantably  pursued  and  slain,  the 
very  domestic  dogs  and  fowl  rounded  on  them, 
and  gave  it  to  them.  "You  cut  our  throats  and 
ate  us/7  said  the  fowl.  "You  did  the  like  to  us," 
said  the  dogs — and  such  is  still  the  usage  in  those 
countries;  "but,  further,  the  moment  we  came  in 
to  the  fireside  you  picked  up  things  to  throw  at 
us,"  and  then,  as  now,  and  as  these  dogs  expressly 
say,  "anything  was  good  enough  to  beat  a  dog 
with."  "So,"  said  the  chickens  and  the  dogs,  "as 
you  have  done  unto  us,  we  shall  do  to  you." 

Then  the  pots  and  pans  took  voice,  and  addressed 
themselves  primarily  to  the  helpmeet.  "You 
never  thought  twice,"  they  reproached,  "before 
putting  us  in  the  fire;  it  mattered  little  to  you 
that  our  cheeks  were  smutted  and  black.  But 
our  time  has  come,  and  we  shall  do  likewise  to 
you."  So  they  thrust  them  in  the  fire  and  black- 
ened their  faces  in  the  smoke.  And  the  mill- 
stones likewise  reproached  them  and  said  it  was 
their  turn  to  grind  their  masters.  Nor  was  this 
all,  for  meanwhile  the  flood  was  steadily  rising, 
and,  when  the  wooden-doll  people  tried  to  climb 
on  their  houses  to  escape,  the  houses  crumbled 
and  fell,  so  that  they  had  no  resource  or  way  of 
escape  from  the  flood  but  to  flee  to  the  moun- 

363 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

tains  and  climb  the  loftiest  trees  of  the  forests; 
and  there  a  terrible  thing  overtook  the  wooden- 
doll  people,  for  they  turned  into  the  little  monkeys 
that  you  find  only  in  the  highest  hills;  and  that 
is  why  these  little  monkeys  have  faces  like  men, 
because  they  are  the  wooden-doll  people  changed. 

This,  indeed,  is  turning  the  tables  on  Darwin; 
and  there  is  another  story,  of  like  purport,  which 
seems  to  me  the  climax  of  pre-Columbian  Ameri- 
can humor.  It  relates  to  a  period  somewhat 
later,  when  the  races  of  men  had  become  more 
human;  and  the  persons  in  the  story  are  a  ven- 
erable old  grandmother,  and  two  wonderful  pairs 
of  twins,  her  dual  grandsons.  Wonderful  things 
surrounded  the  birth  of  both  the  elder  and  the 
younger  twins,  and  portents  accompanied  them. 
For  the  elder  twins  were  marvelously  skilled  in 
all  the  arts;  they  could  discourse  exquisite  melody 
on  the  flute;  they  could  dance  and  sing  marvel- 
ously, and  to  these  already  wonderful  acquire- 
ments they  added  a  knowledge  of  sculpture  and 
painting;  perhaps  they  made  the  models  for  some 
of  those  portentous  sculptured  figures  that  are 
brought  from  Copan  and  Palenque  to  our  museums, 
sculptures  with  a  kind  of  hideous  grandeur  about 
them.  Perhaps,  also,  they  painted  such  books  as 
were  found  by  the  early  invaders,  books  of  flaring 
hieroglyphics,  or  rather  symbolical  figures,  who 
made  the  written  letters  of  those  ancient  days. 

But,  skilled  as  they  were  in  the  arts,  the  elder 
twins  had  mean  and  discreditable  natures;  they 
hated  the  younger  twins  with  a  deadly  and  pro- 

364 


AMERICAN  HUMOR  BEFORE  COLUMBUS 

phetic  hatred,  hated  them,  indeed,  before  they 
came  to  birth  and  saw  the  light.  For  the  elder 
twins  were  grown  men  and  famed  artists  before 
the  younger  twins  came  into  the  world;  and,  had 
they  had  their  wicked  will,  the  younger  twins 
would  have  perished  at  their  birth.  For  the 
wicked  elder  brothers  took  the  twin  infants  from 
their  mother's  arms  and  threw  them  out  on  an 
anthill,  hoping  that  they  would  be  stung  to  death; 
but,  because  they  ware  miraculous  twins  and 
children  of  destiny,  they  took  no  harm,  but  slept 
there,  peacefully  smiling.  So  once  more  the  elder 
twins,  full  of  envious  wrath,  took  the  babes  and 
threw  them  among  thorns;  but  here  also  they 
prospered,  and  were  none  the  worse.  So  at  last 
perforce  the  elder  twins  had  to  accept  their  fate, 
and  allowed  the  younger  twins  to  grow  up  in  the 
dwelling  of  their  old  grandmother. 

But,  just  because  of  the  many  virtues  of  the 
younger  twins,  the  elder  twins  hated  them  yet 
the  more.  And  they  so  arranged  matters,  that 
they,  the  elder  twins,  should  have  all  the  pleasures 
and  delights,  while  the  younger  twins  should  have 
the  toils  and  pains.  But  the  younger  twins  were 
skilled  magicians  and  at  last  they  worked  a  dire 
vengeance  upon  their  cruel  brothers.  For  matters 
were  so  divided  between  them  that  it  was  the 
duty  of  the  younger  twins  to  go  out  and  shoot 
game  with  their  blow-guns,  birds  and  small  ani- 
mals of  the  forest;  but  it  was  the  part  of  the 
elder  brothers  to  eat  the  game  when  it  was  brought 
home  and  cooked.  Thus  nourished,  they  lived 

365 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

at  their  ease,  fluting  and  dancing  all  the  day,  save 
at  such  times  as  they  were  giving  to  painting  and 
sculpture. 

So  one  day  the  vengeance  fell.  The  younger 
twins,  of  deliberate  intent,  returned  homeward 
from  their  blow-gun  hunting  without  trace  of  fur 
or  feather,  and  sate  them  down,  again  of  delib- 
erate intent,  before  their  old  grandmother,  who 
was  busy  at  the  fire  making  ready  for  the  cooking. 
When  she  saw  that  there  was  nothing  to  cook, 
she  was  astonished  and  asked  the  twin  hunters 
what  had  befallen  and  what  had  failed  to  befall. 
Had  there  been  no  game  in  the  forests,  or  had  their 
aim  been  bad?  But  the  younger  twins  made  an- 
swer that  they  had  seen  abundant  game  and  had 
indeed  shot  much  with  their  blow-guns;  but,  as 
ill-luck  would  have  it,  everything  they  shot  fell 
among  the  thick  branches  of  the  trees,  and  they, 
being  yet  young  and  not  fully  grown,  could  not 
climb  after  it  and  bring  it  to  earth.  So  they 
begged  the  old  grandmother  to  bid  the  elder  twins 
go  forth  with  them  to  climb  the  great  tree  and 
bring  down  the  birds  which  they  had  shot. 

The  elder  twins,  little  suspecting,  laid  their 
flutes  aside,  ceased  from  their  dancing  and  their 
arts,  and,  propelled  by  the  need  of  dinner,  went 
forth.  They  came  to  a  certain  great  tree,  which,  all 
unknown  to  the  elder  brothers,  the  younger  brothers 
had  circled  with  potent  magical  spells.  About 
the  crown  of  the  tree  were  many  birds  of  gorgeous 
plumage  and  plump  flesh,  and  at  these  the  younger 

twins  began  to  shoot,  with  industrious  skill,  with 

360 


AMERICAN  HUMOR  BEFORE  COLUMBUS 

their  blow-guns.  And  the  birds  fell  before  their 
darts,  yet  fell  never  to  the  ground,  but  stuck  always 
in  the  upper  branches  of  the  mighty  tree.  So, 
when  they  had  shot  many,  but  gotten  none,  they 
at  last  overpersuaded  the  elder  twins  to  mount 
the  great  tree,  and,  behold  a  wonder,  as  they 
climbed,  so  did  the  tree  grow,  till  the  elder  twins 
realized  that  they  could  never  get  down  again. 
Then  did  the  younger  twins  resort  to  a  graceless 
strategy.  For,  seeing  the  elder  twins  perplexed 
and  frightened  among  the  branches,  they  called 
to  them:  "Tie  your  belts  round  your  waists,  and 
let  the  ends  hang  down;  then  each  can  aid  the 
other  to  descend,  and  you  will  be  saved. "  And 
no  sooner  were  the  belts  tied  and  pendant  than 
the  junior  twins  worked  a  magical  spell,  which 
had  the  dire  effect  of  turning  the  belts  into  tails 
and  their  wearers  into  monkeys. 

Now  indeed  did  those  elder  brothers  grimace 
and  chatter  in  the  trees,  no  longer  eager  to  get 
down,  but  rather  desirous  of  escaping  further 
sight  and  fleeing  along  the  upper  branches  to 
the  mountain  heights.  And  when  they  were  fled, 
chattering  and  grimacing,  with  long  tails  pendant, 
the  younger  brothers  went  back  slowly,  and,  as 
it  were,  pensive  and  perplexed,  to  the  old  grand- 
mother's abode.  She,  in  truth,  was  not  long  in 
asking  what  had  befallen  the  elder  twins,  whom 
she  always  perversely  favored,  spite  of  their  bad 
and  evil  natures;  and  the  younger  twins  told 
her,  with  many  expressions  of  wonder,  that  their 
big  brothers  had,  by  some  dire  mischance,  been 

367 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

turned  into  beasts  of  the  forest,  great  monkeys 
among  the  boughs,  with  nothing  now  left  of  their 
manifold  arts  but  gibbering  and  chattering  to  take 
the  place  of  song.  But,  they  said,  they  could 
secure  to  the  old  grandmother  a  sight  of  her  ill- 
starred  favorites  on  one  condition,  and  that  not 
too  easy  a  one.  They  could  pipe  to  the  elder 
brothers  on  their  flutes,  and  these  would  come 
forth  from  the  forest;  but  if  by  chance  the  old 
grandmother  should  laugh  at  them,  then  they 
would  fly  back  again  to  the  woods  and  disappear. 
She  consented,  made  her  wryest  and  most  reso- 
lute face,  and  waited  the  coming  of  the  grandsons, 
while  the  younger  twins  piped  to  them  sweetly 
on  the  flute,  and  the  melody  they  piped  was  the 
Monkey  Dance,  far  famed  of  old. 

Such  was  the  charm  of  the  Monkey  Dance,  such 
their  charm  in  fluting  it,  that  presently  the  elder 
twins,  irresistibly  moved  by  concord  of  sweet 
sounds,  spite  of  their  stratagems,  came  hopping 
and  prancing  forth  from  the  forest  in  time  to  the 
music,  gibbering  and  chattering  and  grimacing, 
with  their  tails  balancing  rhythmically  in  the  air. 
The  old  grandmother  was  shocked  at  the  per- 
mutations of  her  descendants,  and  grieved  for 
the  fate  that  had  come  over  them;  but,  even 
though  she  had  been  warned  that  laughter  would 
be  fatal,  she  could  not  refrain.  She  hid  her  face 
in  her  hands,  but  presently  she  was  sizzling  and 
sputtering  with  laughter,  and  her  monkey  sons 
straightway  disappeared  in  the  forest.  Twice  and 
thrice  did  the  poor  old  crone  most  heartily  try 

368 


AMERICAN  HUMOR  BEFORE  COLUMBUS 

to  restrain  her  grins;  twice  and  thrice  did  the 
crafty  younger  twins  pipe  most  melodiously  to 
their  whilom  tyrannous  elders;  and  twice  and 
thrice  did  these  come  forth  from  the  forest,  most 
grotesquely  balancing  and  mowing,  gibbering  and 
chattering,  and  brandishing  their  new-grown  tails. 
Twice  and  thrice,  too,  did  the  old  lady  burst  out 
into  uncontrollable  laughter,  to  see  her  offspring 
thus  translated;  and,  as  her  last  laughter  rang 
through  the  house,  and  echoed  over  the  open 
space  about  it,  the  ill-fated  elder  twins,  incredibly 
shocked  at  her  mirth,  disappeared  in  the  forest 
for  ever. 


XXXI 

THE  ESSENCE  OF  AMERICAN  HUMOR 

WRITING  once  of  "The  American  Spirit  in 
Literature/ '  I  tried  to  solve  a  problem  which 
had  been  haunting  me  for  years :  to  give  myself  an 
account  of  the  peculiar  and  wonderful  quality 
which  distinguishes  the  best  that  has  been  writ- 
ten on  this  continent  from  all  other  writing  what- 
soever, from  the  days  of  gray-headed  Chaldea 
and  Mother  India  down  to  the  latest  fantasies  of 
Maurice  Maeterlinck  and  Gabriel  d'Annunzio. 

To  lay  a  ghost,  the  magicians  of  the  East  always 
have  to  evoke  a  demon.  I  find  myself  in  much 
the  same  case.  In  settling  to  my  own  satisfaction 
that  first  haunting  problem,  I  find  I  have  called 
up  half  a  dozen  more,  just  as  difficult  and  just  as 
clamorous  for  solution.  It  happened  in  this  way: 
To  show  the  visible  presence  and  sunlit  trans- 
parence of  the  best  American  writing,  I  instanced 
chiefly  four  story  -  tellers  —  Bret  Harte,  Mark 
Twain,  G.  W.  Cable,  and  Mary  Wilkins.  But 
all  four  of  them,  and  especially  the  first  two,  ir- 
resistibly suggest  another  quality  besides  the 
American  spirit — namely,  the  quality  of  humor. 
And  so  up  springs  the  new  demon,  the  infinitely 

370 


THE  ESSENCE  OF  AMERICAN  HUMOR 

tantalizing  problem.  What  is  American  humor? 
And  if  it  differs  from  the  humor  of  other  lands, 
from  Aristophanes  to  Rabelais,  from  Chaucer  to 
Dickens,  from  the  Ecclesiast  to  Hitopadesha, 
wherein  does  the  difference  lie?  Here,  again,  to 
lay  one  ghost,  we  must  raise  another.  Supposing 
we  have  settled  the  question  of  humor;  just  as  we 
are  folding  our  hands  in  placid  satisfaction,  we 
suddenly  remember  that  there  is  such  a  thing  as 
wit,  and  we  are  called  on  either  to  try  a  fall  with 
this  new  adversary  or  to  admit  ourselves  dis- 
gracefully vanquished. 

I  hope  I  have  some  humanity  in  my  breast,  for 
I  have  already  raised  a  whole  army  of  sprites,  and 
in  imagination  see  myself  confronted  with  a  host 
of  visionary  readers,  with  haggard  eyes  and  drawn 
countenances,  desperately  asking:  "What  is  a 
joke?  And  how  are  you  to  know  one  if  you  see 
it?"  My  justification  for  this  wanton  malice  is 
that  I  think  I  have  discovered  the  charm  to  lay 
these  haunting  presences  to  rest;  that  I  have  in 
some  sort  discovered  the  true  inwardness  of  humor, 
and  even  been  able  to  draw  the  shadowy  line 
dividing  it  from  wit. 

Here  is  a  story  which  seems  to  me  to  come  close 
to  the  heart  of  the  secret.  The  scene  is  laid  in 
the  wild  and  woolly  West.  A  mustang  has  been 
stolen,  a  claim  jumped,  or  a  euchre  pack  found 
to  contain  more  right  and  left  bowers  than  an 
Arctic  brig;  and  swift  Nemesis  has  descended  in 
the  form  of  Manila  hemp.  The  time  has  come  to 
break  the  news  to  the  family  of  the  deceased.  A 

371 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

deputation  goes  ahead,  and  the  leader  knocks  at 
the  door  of  the  bereaved  homestead,  asking,  "Does 
Widow  Smith  live  here?" 

A  stout  and  cheerful  person  replies,  "I'm  Mrs. 
Smith,  but  I  ain't  no  widow!" 

The  deputation  answers:  "Bet  you  a  dollar  you 
are!  But  you've  got  the  laugh  on  us,  just  the 
same,  for  we've  lynched  the  wrong  man." 

That  story  is  irresistible.  It  is  as  full  of  sar- 
donic fire  as  anything  in  all  literature,  but  you 
would  hardly  call  it  humor.  It  seems  to  me  to 
lie  so  directly  on  the  border-line  that  we  may  use 
it  as  a  landmark. 

_  The  moral  is  this:  humor  consists  in  laughing 
/  with  the  other  man;  wit,  in  laughing  at  him.  There 
is  all  the  difference  in  the  world.  But  in  both 
there  must  be  laughter.  And  laughter  is  always 
the  fruit  of  a  certain  excess  of  power,  of  animal 
or  vital  magnetism,  drawn  forth  by  a  sense  of 
contrast  or  discrepancy.  This  story  illustrates 
each  of  these  points.  The  discrepancy  or  con- 
trast lies  in  the  chasm  between  the  terrible  be- 
reavement of  widowhood  and  the  jest  that  an- 
nounces it.  Even  the  Widow  Smith  must  have 
smiled.  But  after  the  first  spasms  of  laughter 
have  passed,  there  remains  the  yawning  gulf  be- 
fore her,  in  all  its  blackness.  The  story  is  really 
infinitely  bitter,  and  the  laughter  it  calls  up  some- 
thing of  a  snarl. 

To  laugh  at  the  other  man  is  invariably  a  trib- 
ute to  one's  own  egotism,  a  burning  of  incense 
to  oneself.  It  widens  the  chasm  between  the 

372 


THE  ESSENCE  OF  AMERICAN  HUMOR 

two  personalities,  and  sharpens  the  natural  op- 
position between  man  and  man.  In  this  way  wit 
is  essentially  demoralizing.  It  is  also  essentially 
self-conscious.  Watch  the  efforts  of  the  con- 
scientiously funny  man,  and  you  will  see  both 
elements  manifest  themselves — the  self-conscious- 
ness and  the  demoralization.  The  final  result  of 
his  efforts  is  contempt  instead  of  admiration,  and 
a  universal  sadness  overcasting  the  company  he 
has  tried  to  move  to  mirth.  Wit,  therefore,  dif- 
fers from  humor  in  this:  that  while  both  are  ex- 
pressed in  laughter,  arising  from  excess  of  'animal 
magnetism  and  called  forth  by  a  feeling  of  dis- 
crepancy or  contrast,  wit  is  self-conscious  and 
egotistical,  while  humor  is  natural  and  humane. 

One  may  call  humane  whatever  recognizes  our 
common  humanity,  or,  still  more  broadly,  what- 
ever recognizes  our  common  life.  For  there 
is  a  humanity  toward  animals.  But  if  we  look 
deep  enough,  we  shall  find  that  behind  our  con- 
scious intention  we  do  perpetually  recognize  a 
common  life,  a  common  soul;  that  we  do  this  by 
hating  no  less  than  by  loving,  by  hostility  as  well 
as  by  acts  of  gentlest  charity.  Behind  all  our 
dramas  of  emotion  —  grave  or  gay,  passionate, 
tragic,  or  mirthful — behind  avarice,  ambition, 
vanity,  lies  the  deep  intuition  of  our  common 
soul,  and  to  this  we  in  all  things  ultimately  appeal. 
We  seek  the  envy  of  human  beings,  not  of  stones 
or  trees;  we  covet  and  lust  for  human  ends;  and 
in  even  the  blackest  elements  of  our  human  lives 
we  are  still  paying  tribute  to  our  humanity,  to 

373 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

the  common  soul.  Even  murderers  would  not 
conspire  together  but  for  the  sense  of  the  common 
soul  in  both. 

But  pity  and  compassion  recognize  the  common 
life,  the  common  human  soul;  the  very  name  of 
sympathy  means  a  suffering  with  some  other.  The 
classic  story  of  sympathy,  the  Good  Samaritan, 
owes  its  immortal  power  to  this  sense.  First  there 
is  the  sympathy  of  the  narrator  with  the  afflicted 
man  and  with  his  rescuer;  and  then  the  second 
and  communicated  sympathy  which  all  hearers 
are  compelled  to  feel  with  both,  thus  being  brought 
into  the  humane  mood  of  the  narrator,  and  recog- 
nizing the  common  soul  in  themselves,  in  him,  in 
the  sufferer,  and  in  the  Samaritan  who  relieved 
his  pain.  This  irresistible  quality  of  sympathy, 
this  potent  assertion  of  the  common  soul,  has  made 
the  story  immortal,  erecting  the  name  of  an  ob- 
scure Semitic  clan  into  a  synonym  for  humanity 
and  kindness. 

Sympathy,  compassion,  the  suffering  with  an- 
other, are  recognitions  of  the  common  soul  in  the 
face  of  sorrow,  in  the  face  of  suffering,  in  the  face 
of  fate.  The  whole  cycle  of  Greek  tragedy  is  full 
of  this  sense  of  universal  man  bearing  in  common 
the  mountainous  burden  of  adverse  and  invincible 
law.  That  line  of  Homer  might  characterize  it 
all:  " Purple  Death  took  him,  and  mighty  Fate." 
The  bereavements  of  Hecuba,  the  madness  and 
death  of  Ajax,  owe  their  undying  power,  not  to 
any  quality  of  art  or  beauty,  though  they  are 
saturated  and  sultry  with  beauty,  but  to  something 

374 


THE  ESSENCE  OF  AMERICAN  HUMOR 

greater  still:  to  the  sense  of  the  common  soul, 
called  up  in  us  by  sorrow,  by  danger,  by  affliction, 
by  death. 

Consider  the  message  of  Galilee  as  an  orderly 
sequence  to  this.  We  have  the  same  recognition 
of  the  common  soul,  not  so  much  in  resignation 
and  submission  to  fate  as  in  a  certain  warm  and 
subtle  quality  which  outruns  fate  and  makes  it 
powerless — a  quality  of  sympathy,  of  compassion, 
of  suffering  with  another,  in  virtue  of  which  the 
very  shadows  of  Greek  tragedy,  sickness,  sorrow, 
affliction,  become  the  lights  of  the  picture,  for 
they  testify  to  and  evoke  the  common  soul. 
Rightly  understood,  this  is  the  message  of  the 
Evangel  of  Sorrow.  When  our  complacence  and 
self-satisfied  egotism  are  beaten  down,  this  other 
side  of  our  nature  arises;  when  we  are  less 
full  of  ourselves,  we  have  more  room  for 
others,  or,  deeper  still,  more  room  for  that 
which  we  recognize  in  others,  the  one  soul  com- 
mon to  all  humanity.  All  emotion,  not  com- 
passion only,  is  contagious.  All  emotion  testifies 
to  the  common  soul.  We  come  to  this  result: 
that  humor  is  emotion  expressing  itself  in  laughter, 
and  called  forth  by  a  contrast  or  discrepancy. 
But  laughter  is  always  the  fruit  of  an  excess  of 
vital  magnetism,  of  power.  Therefore,  rightly 
understood,  humor  is  a  contagion  or  sharing  of  ~ 
the  sense  of  excess  power,  of  abundant  vitality, 
of  animal  magnetism. 

You  can  see  now  why  we  laid  such  stress  upon 
the  Greek  tragedy  and  its  message.     Sophocles 

25  375 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

unites  us  through  the  sense  of  our  common  danger 
and  common  pain.  That  is  the  darker  side  of 
sympathy,  the  deep  shadow  of  the  picture.  The 
Galilean  unites  us  through  sympathy,  the  feeling 
of  kinjdness  drawn  forth  by  pain.  But,  if  my 
definition  comes  near  the  truth,  real  humor  unites 
us  in  a  sense  of  our  excess  vitality,  a  sense  of 
mastery  over  fate;  an  intuition  that  the  common 
soul  in  us  can  easily  conquer  and  outlast  the  long- 
est night  of  sorrow,  the  deepest  shadow  of  pain. 
Humor  thus  becomes  a  very  serious  matter.  It 
becomes  nothing  less  than  the  herald  of  our  final 
victory,  the  dawn  of  the  golden  age. 

To  go  back  a  little  to  a  point  we  raised  before. 
Wit  is  a  sense  of  scoring  off  the  other  man,  a 
triumph  over  him,  a  sense  of  our  excess  vitality 
as  contrasted  with  his  weakness,  a  mentally  push- 
ing him  into  the  mud  and  gloating  over  him. 
Now  it  is  essentially  unpleasant  to  be  pushed  into 
the  mud  and  laughed  at,  whether  mentally  or 
bodily;  and  the  successful  wit's  tribute  to  his 
own  egotism,  so  far  from  cementing  the  bonds  of 
man,  really  widens  the  chasm  and  sets  up  that 
hostility  between  one  personality  and  another 
which  is  always  the  demoniac  element  in  human 
life.  It  follows  that  whatever  separates  persons 
in  feeling,  though  it  may  be  the  fodder  of  wit,  is 
fatal  to  humor,  just  as  it  is  fatal  to  sympathy  or 
to  gentle  charity.  Therefore,  to  have  true  humor, 
we  must  first  hold  in  abeyance  the  elements  of  hos- 
tility, difference  of  race  or  rank,  difference  of  faith 
or  hope.  If  the  common  soul  be,  as  we  have  seen 

376 


THE  ESSENCE  OF  AMERICAN  HUMOR 

it  is,  the  last  and  highest  reality  behind  all  our 
dramas  of  feeling  and  ambition,  behind  hate  as 
well  as  love,  behind  envy  as  well  as  kindliness, 
then  all  these  things  which  separate  persons  and 
set  them  at  variance,  the  dreams  of  different  race 
and  rank,  of  different  faiths  and  ideals,  are  but 
shadows  cast  by  our  fancies  in  the  light  of  the 
common  soul:  that  is  the  reality,  while  these  are 
dreams. 

Humor,  then,  can  know  no  difference  of  race. 
For  it,  we  are  all  human  beings,  all  children  of 
the  common  soul.  But  humor  will  not  appre- 
hend this  doctrine  here;  it  will  go  far  deeper,  and 
apprehend  it  as  a  visible  presence,  a  reality  touched 
and  felt,  a  direct  intuition.  For  this  reason,  along 
with  many  others,  the  best  American  humor 
stands  pre-eminent  throughout  the  world  and 
through  all  time.  It  recognizes  no  difference  of 
race.  li  is  free  from  that  miserable  tribal  vanity 
which  is  the  root  of  half  our  human  ills.  The 
Jewish  spirit  is  perhaps  the  supreme  instance 
which  human  history  affords  of  this  tribal  self- 
love,  with  its  reward  of  intensity  and  its  punish- 
ment of  isolation.  And  as  certainly  as  night  fol- 
lows day,  or  day  night,  we  find  in  Jewish  wit  the 
last  essence  of  bitterness,  the  culmination  of  that 
unhumane  quality  which  eternally  divides  it  from 
humor.  Read  sentence  after  sentence  of  "  Kohe- 
leth,  the  Preacher" — the  living  dog  better  than  the 
dead  lion,  the  gibes  at  women,  the  perpetual 
mockery  at  fools,  the  deep  pessimism  under  it  all 
— and  you  will  realize  how  closely  tribal  zeal  and 

377 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

bitterness  are  bound  together;  how  certainly  the 
keen  sense  of  race  difference  closes  the  door  of 
that  warm  human  heart  from  which  alone  humor 
can  come. 

All  Jewish  writing,  ancient  or  modern,  has  the 
same  defect.  There  is  always  the  presence  of 
two  qualities,  seemingly  unconnected,  but  in  reality 
bound  very  closely  together — a  certain  bitter 
sensuality  and  a  sardonic  and  mordant  wit.  Both 
spring  from  the  same  thing:  an  overkeen  sense 
of  bodily  difference,  whether  of  sex  or  of  race. 
The  first  sense  of  difference  causes  a  subjection  to 
sex  tyranny,  which  revenges  itself  in  gibes  and 
epigrams,  as  with  that  uxorious  king  to  whom 
tradition  accredits  the  Proverbs.  The  second, 
the  keen  sense  of  race  difference,  breeds  a  hostile 
and  jealous  spirit,  a  perpetual  desire  to  exhibit 
one's  own  superiority,  to  show  off,  to  "get  the 
laugh  on"  the  supposed  inferior  races  and  outer 
barbarians,  which,  going  with  excess  of  vital 
power — a  marvelous  characteristic  of  the  Jews- 
will  inevitably  give  birth  to  keen  and  biting  wit, 
but  to  humor  never.  The  gibes  of  the  Preacher, 
the  courtly  insincerities  of  Disraeli,  the  morbid 
sensuousness  of  Zola,  all  flow  from  the  same  race 
character,  and  are  moods  of  the  same  mind. 

It  is  curious  to  see  the  same  thing  cropping  up 
in  Alphonse  Daudet,  who  was  of  mixed  race,  half 
Jew,  half  Provengal.  One  may  follow  that  fa- 
mous image  of  his  own,  which  describes  the  two 
Tartarins — Tar tarin- Quixote  and  Tartarin-San- 
cho-Panza,  or;  more  familiarly,  Tartarin  Lapin-de- 

378 


THE  ESSENCE  OF  AMERICAN  HUMOR 

garenne  and  Tartarin  Lapin-de-choux — and  say 
that  there  are  two  Daudets,  Daudet-Koheleth  and 
Daudet-Tartarin:  the  one,  the  Semitic  author  of 
Sappho,  of  Rose  et  Ninette,  of  Fromont  Jeune  et 
Risler  Aine;  the  other,  the  creator  of  the  many- 
sided,  meridional  Tartarin-Numa-Nabab.  There 
lies  the  difference  between  wit  and  humor,  as  it 
is  influenced  by  exclusiveness  of  race,  or,  to  give 
a  foolish  thing  a  commoner  name,  by  tribal  vanity. 
To  precisely  the  same  category  of  wit  springing 
from  tribal  vanity  belong  the  endless  stories  in 
which  the  Germans  score  off  the  Russians,  the 
Russians  score  off  the  Germans;  in  which  Mag- 
yars and  Austrians  whet  their  satire  on  each  other; 
in  which  Bengalis  try  to  get  the  laugh  on  Pun- 
jabis; in  which  Frenchmen  are  witty  about  Miss 
Bull's  protruding  front  teeth,  while  Englishmen 
revenge  themselves  by  tales  of  the  frog-eating 
Mounseer.  So  that  we  have  here  a  perfectly 
definite  line:  if  there  is  a  play  of  the  mind  about 
difference  of  race,  using  this  as  the  laughter- 
rousing  contrast  which  is  common  to  both  wit 
and  humor,  and  if  this  play  of  thought  and  feeling 
accentuates  and  heightens  the  race  difference,  and 
tries  to  show,  or  assumes,  as  is  oftener  the  case, 
that  the  race  of  the  joker  is  endlessly  superior  to 
the  other,  then  we  are  dealing  with  wit — an  amus- 
ing thing  enough  in  its  way,  but  a  false  thing,  one 
which  leads  us  away  from  the  true  end  of  man. 
If,  on  the  other  hand,  we  have  an  accentuation 
of  the  common  life,  bridging  the  chasm  of  race, 
and  the  overplus  of  power  is  felt  to  be  shared  in 

379 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

by  the  two  races  and  to  unite  them,  then  we  have 
genuine  humor — something  as  vital  to  our  true 
humanity  as  is  the  Tragedy  of  Greece,  as  is  the 
Evangel  of  Galilee,  yet  something  more  joyful 
and  buoyant  than  either;  uniting  us,  not  through 
compassion  or  the  sense  of  common  danger,  but 
through  the  sense  of  common  power — a  prophecy 
of  the  golden  age,  of  the  ultimate  triumph  of  the 
soul. 

In  this  binding  quality  of  humor  Mark  Twain's 
best  work  stands  easily  supreme.  Take  the  scenes 
on  the  Mississippi  in  which  the  immortal  trio,  Tom 
Sawyer,  Huck  Finn,  and  Jim  the  Nigger,  play  their 
parts:  they  are  as  saturated  with  the  sense  of  our 
common  life  as  is  the  story  of  the  sorrow  of  Ajax 
or  the  tale  of  the  Samaritan.  The  author  has  felt 
the  humanity  in  his  triad  of  heroes  as  deeply  and 
humanely  as  it  can  be  felt;  his  work  is  sincere  and 
true  throughout;  it  is  full  of  that  inimitable  qual- 
ity of  contagion,  the  touchstone  of  all  true  art, 
in  virtue  of  which  we  vividly  feel  and  realize  what 
the  artist  has  vividly  felt  and  realized.  Through 
every  page  we  feel  the  difference  of  race,  used  as 
an  artistic  contrast;  but  we  are  conscious  of  some- 
thing more — of  overstepping  the  chasm,  of  bridg- 
ing the  abyss  between  black  and  white,  American 
and  Ethiopian,  bond  and  free.  We  have  come 
to  the  conclusion,  long  before  Huck  Finn  puts 
it  in  words,  that  Jim  is  a  white  man  inside — as 
white  as  we  are. 

This  binding  of  the  two  races  has  been  accom- 
plished before,  in  a  famous  American  book;  the 

380 


THE  ESSENCE  OF  AMERICAN  HUMOR 

most  successful,  probably,  that  the  New  World 
has  yet  produced.  But  in  Uncle  Tom  the  cement 
is  sentimentality  rather  than  humor;  the  Galilean 
sense  of  sympathy  through  common  suffering 
rather  than  through  excess  of  power;  it  plays 
round  feelings  and  emotions  which,  however  keen 
and  poignant,  are  not  part  of  our  everlasting  in- 
heritance; moreover,  it  is  colored  with  a  reHgious 
pathos  which,  while  it  still  saturates  the  minds 
of  the  race  mates  of  Uncle  Tom,  is  quickly  vanish- 
ing from  the  hearts  of  his  white  masters,  to  give 
place  to  something  higher  and  better — an  assured 
sense  of  the  power  of  the  soul.  So  marked  has 
been  the  growth  of  our  spiritual  consciousness  in 
the  last  generation,  hitherto  unconscious  and 
unrecorded,  that  we  can  confidently  look  forward 
to  a  time  when  the  fear  of  death  will  no  longer  be 
valid  as  a  motive  of  tragedy,  any  more  than  the 
fear  of  hell  is  now  a  motor  of  morals.  Therefore, 
the  mood  of  religion  which  colors  Uncle  Tom  is  a 
far  less  enduring  and  vital  thing  than  the  robust 
out-of-doors  vitality  of  Tom  Sawyer's  Mississippi 
days:  and  it  is  this  quality,  this  buoyancy  and 
excess  of  power,  which  forms  the  necessary  atmos- 
phere of  humor. 

In  another  story,  of  a  much  earlier  period,  Mark 
Twain  has  again  used  his  genius  to  bridge  the  same 
race  chasm.  It  is  that  fine  and  epic  tale  of  Cap- 
tain Ned  Blakely  and  his  colored  mate.  Here 
humor  is  reinforced  by  indignation,  and  both  are 
illuminated  by  fancy;  but  humor,  the  sense  of 
excess  of  power  and  of  our  common  soul,  is  still 

381 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

the  dominant  note.  Yet  the  Tom  Sawyer  trio, 
in  those  sunlit  days  on  the  great  river,  with  the 
raft  floating  along  and  the  boys  telling  tales  or 
puffing  at  their  corncob  pipes  or  going  in  swim- 
ming, is,  and  will  probably  long  remain,  the  high- 
water  mark  of  humor  and  imaginative  creation 
for  the  New  World — the  most  genuinely  American 
thing  ever  written. 

Bret  Harte  is  of  nearly  equal  value  in  his  early 
tales,  but  with  this  difference:  that  it  is  the  chasm 
of  caste,  not  of  race,  which  his  great  power  bridges 
over.  Mark  Twain  does  this  abundantly,  too. 
Huck  Finn,  the  outcast,  the  vagabond,  the  home- 
less wanderer,  with  his  patched  breeches,  his  one 
suspender,  his  perforated  hat,  is  bone  of  our  bone 
and  flesh  of  our  flesh  beyond  the  common  meas- 
ure of  our  kind;  more,  he  is  the  superior  of  most 
of  us  in  humane  simplicity,  in  ease  of  manner 
and  unconsciousness,  in  genuine  kindness  of  heart. 
But  with  Bret  Harte,  this  bridging  of  chasms,  this 
humanizing  of  outcasts,  of  vagabonds,  gamblers, 
and  waifs  of  either  sex,  is  a  passion,  the  dominant 
quality  of  his  rich  and  natural  humor.  That 
nameless  baby,  the  Luck  of  Roaring  Camp,  enlists 
our  heartiest  sympathy  from  the  first;  so,  indeed, 
does  his  disreputable  mother.  We  remember, 
and  we  are  conscious  of  a  profound  satisfaction 
in  remembering,  that  motherhood  is  always  the 
same,  without  regard  to  race,  caste,  color,  or 
creed.  And  with  the  excess  of  power  in  his  ro- 
bust miners,  and  their  fine  animal  magnetism,  as 
of  the  primeval  out-of-doors,  comes  the  quality  of 

382 


THE  ESSENCE  OF  AMERICAN  HUMOR 

humor,  like  the  touch  of  morning  sunshine  on  the 
red  pine  stems  and  granite  boulders  of  the  Rock- 
ies, where  is  their  home. 

"The  Outcasts  of  Poker  Flat"  is  full  of  the 
same  leveling  quality;  a  leveling  up,  not  a  leveling 
down.  The  two  real  outcasts,  the  gambler  and 
the  Rahab,  are  raised  to  a  sense  of  their  human 
life,  to  a  human  dignity  and  self-sacrifice,  by  the 
simplicity  of  their  half -childish  chance  companions; 
all  barriers  are  broken  down,  and  there  remains 
nothing  but  the  common  soul.  There  is  a  touch 
of  pathos  in  this  tale,  too,  but  rather  as  a  contrast 
than  as  a  primary  element;  yet  the  fine  feeling  is 
humor — victory,  not  defeat;  not  weakness,  but 
power.  "M'liss,"  one  of  the  finest  things  Bret 
Harte  ever  wrote,  is  full  of  the  same  quality — the 
quality  of  charity,  of  sympathy  with  outcasts; 
or,  to  come  to  the  true  name,  it  is  full  of  the  sense 
of  the  common  soul  under  all  differences.  More 
than  that,  we  are  all  through  conscious  of  a  feel- 
ing that  the  essential  truth  is  with  M'liss  in  her 
wildness;  that  she  is  more  at  home  in  the  universe 
than  we  are,  feels  more  kindred  with  the  enduring 
things — the  green  forests,  the  sunshine,  the  wind, 
the  stars  in  the  purple  sky,  the  primal  passions  of 
the  human  heart. 

If  genius  thus  bridges  over  the  greater  chasms 
of  our  life,  we  need  hardly  say  that  it  still  more 
easily  and  certainly  passes  over  the  less;  but 
there  is  one  chasm  which  it  is  worth  while  to  speak 
of  more  fully — the  chasm  between  childhood  and 
age.  American  humor  has  discovered  the  child 

383 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

for  the  purposes  of  literature.  The  reason  is,  with- 
out doubt,  that  Americans  are  the  only  people 
who  treat  their  children  as  autonomous  citizens; 
who  make  it  stuff  of  the  conscience  to  give  their 
children  the  utmost  possible  freedom,  and  rouse 
them  to  a  sense  of  responsibility.  Think  of  how 
children  were  kept  down  and  suppressed,  even 
oppressed,  in  the  Old  World,  only  a  generation 
or  two  ago,  and  you  have  the  reason  why  the  child 
of  European  literature  is  such  a  failure.  I  know 
not  whether  it  has  ever  been  said  before,  but  the 
children  of  the  greatest  writer  of  them  all  are  stiff 
and  unnatural  to  a  marvelous  degree,  so  that  we 
hardly  regret  Macbeth's  bringing  to  an  end  that 
precocious  and  sententious  youngster  who  moral- 
izes to  his  mamma.  It  is  with  a  feeling  of  relief 
that  we  read  the  stage  direction,  "Dies."  Let 
him  rest  in  peace. 

Contrast  with  the  deceased  child  those  two 
inimitable  creations  of  American  humor,  Budge 
and  Toddy,  in  Helen's  Babies,  one  of  the  best 
books  this  continent  has  yet  seen.  In  every 
point  of  reality,  as  far  as  child  life  is  concerned, 
Habberton  is  the  superior  of  Shakespeare,  who  in 
so  much  else  is  the  superior  of  all  other  men.  Tom 
Sawyer  is  also  a  most  notable  child  in  literature; 
but  of  course  he  is  ever  so  much  older  than 
Budge  and  Toddy,  and  therefore  the  chasm  is  not 
so  wide,  and  the  honor  of  bridging  it  less.  Yet 
there  is  something  inimitable  in  the  way  he  "  shows 
off"  when  the  new  girl  comes  to  the  village,  and, 
let  me  add,  something  irresistibly  American.  Up 

384 


THE  ESSENCE  OF  AMERICAN  HUMOR 

to  the  present,  I  have  not  been  able  to  determine 
at  what  age  Tom  Sawyer's  fellow-countrymen  drop 
the  habit,  or  at  any  rate  the  desire,  of  showing 
off;  I  am,  indeed,  strongly  convinced  that  nothing 
more  serious  than  that  selfsame  human  weakness 
is  the  root  of  all  the  millionairism  which  seems  to 
fill  so  large  a  space  in  our  horizons.  It  is  the  de- 
sire to  possess  the  stage  properties  essential  to 
successful  showing  off  which  keeps  the  million- 
aires so  busy;  and  it  is  to  be  surmised  that,  as 
in  Tom  Sawyer's  case,  the  "new  girl"  is  the 
audience  of  the  play. 

Speaking  of  the  new  girl  calls  attention  to  the 
fact  that,  so  far,  Budge,  Toddy,  and  Tom  Sawyer, 
the  hierarchy  of  American  boys,  have  no  sisters. 
There  are  no  little  girls  of  the  first  magnitude  in 
American  literature.  Perhaps  the  English  Alice 
in  Wonderland  is  the  high-water  mark  among  lit- 
tle girls;  but,  wonderful  achievement  as  she  is, 
and  absorbing  as  are  her  adventures,  the  atmos- 
phere of  cards  and  chessmen  which  surrounds  her 
is  very  different  from  the  broad  river  bosom,  the 
sweet-smelling  woods,  the  echoing  hills  of  night 
under  the  stars,  where  Tom  Sawyer  and  Huck 
Finn  play  their  parts.  So  infinitely  does  nature 
outweigh  fancy. 

Having  established  our  canon,  we  can  now  apply 
it.  We  do,  in  fact,  find  that  the  masterpieces  of 
American  humor  were  conceived  in  an  atmos- 
phere possessing  exactly  the  qualities  we  have  out- 
lined. There  was  the  broad  and  humane  sense 
of  this  our  life,  of  our  common  nature,  our  com- 

385 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

mon  soul,  overleaping  all  barriers  whatsoever; 
the  distinctions  of  race  and  caste,  of  rich  and  poor, 
dwindling  to  their  real  insignificance  or  forgotten 
altogether;  this  binding  of  hearts  taking  place, 
not  through  the  sense  of  our  common  tragedy, 
our  common  servitude  to  fate,  as  in  ^Eschylus  and 
Sophocles,  nor  in  pity  and  compassion,  as  in  the 
Evangel  of  Galilee,  but  with  a  certain  surcharge 
and  overplus  of  power,  a  buoyancy,  a  sense  of 
conquest,  which  could  best  come  with  the  first 
youth  of  a  strong  young  nation,  and  which  did, 
in  fact,  come  in  the  harvest  of  success  following 
that  fine  outburst  of  manliness  and  adventure, 
the  mining  campaign  of  '49. 

One  characteristic  of  the  finest  humor,  touched 
on  already,  we  must  come  back  to — the  quality 
of  unconsciousness.  Neither  Bret  Harte  nor 
Mark  Twain,  when  they  wrote  of  the  Luck,  of 
M'liss,  of  Captain  Ned  Blakely,  of  Buck  Fan- 
shaw  and  Scotty  Briggs,  had  any  idea  how  great 
they  were,  or  even  that  they  were  great  at 
all;  they  never  dreamed  that  these  sketches 
for  the  local  journal  would  outlive  the  week 
that  saw  their  birth,  and  at  last  make  the  cir- 
cuit of  the  world,  becoming  a  part  of  the  per- 
manent wealth  of  man.  This  unconsciousness 
gives  these  stories  their  inimitable  charm.  There 
is  none  of  the  striving  of  the  funny  man  in  what 
belongs  to  that  first  period,  no  setting  of  traps 
for  our  admiration.  This  is  the  same  as  saying 
that  there  is  none  of  that  instinct  of  egotism  which 
prompts  a  man  to  laugh  at  his  fellow,  to  show  how 

386 


THE  ESSENCE  OF  AMERICAN  HUMOR 

much  wiser  and  cleverer  he  himself  is.  It  is  all 
free,  generous,  and  bountiful  as  the  sunshine  of 
the  land  where  it  was  conceived,  full  of  the  spon- 
taneous life  of  Nature  herself.  As  there  is  in  the 
simplest  heart  a  wisdom  that  outweighs  all  phi- 
losophy, in  the  most  untutored  soul  a  faith  that 
the  schools  and  doctors  know  nothing  of,  so  there 
is  in  these  first  fruits  of  genius  a  fresh  charm  that 
no  art  can  emulate;  we  recognize  the  wisdom  and 
handiwork,  not  of  the  immediate  artificer,  but  of 
the  great  master  builder,  the  one  enduring  soul, 
common  to  all  men  through  all  time.  There  is 
the  sense  of  the  unprecedented,  of  creative  power, 
in  all  works  of  genius;  it  shines  forth  brightly  in 
the  best  work  of  American  literature,  and  most 
brightly  in  the  first  fruits  of  American  humor. 

It  is  not  so  agreeable  to  complete  our  inventory; 
for  we  are  forced  to  see  that  much  of  what  passes 
for  humor  nowadays  is  not  humor  at  all,  but  its 
imitation  and  baser  counterfeit — that  wit  which 
is  marred  by  egotism  and  vanity,  which  springs 
from  the  desire  to  shine,  to  show  off,  to  prove 
oneself  smarter  than  one's  fellows,  to  air  the 
superior  qualities  of  one's  mind.  Let  us  devoutly 
hope  that  this  mood  of  self-consciousness,  like  its 
cousin,  the  shyness  of  the  half  man,  half  boy,  is 
transient  only;  that  it  will  presently  give  place 
to  something  more  mellow  amd  humane.  How 
often  we  feel,  when  we  read  the  productions  of 
this  class,  that  the  writer,  as  he  made  each  point, 
was  lit  up  with  a  little  explosion  of  vanity;  that 

he  was  terribly  self-conscious;  that  he  bridled  and 

387 


WHY  THE  WORLD  LAUGHS 

pranced  within  him,  to  think  he  was  not  as  other 
men!  Instead  of  that  fine  and  humorous  tale  of 
Pharisee  and  Publican,  we  might  write  one  of  the 
humorist  and  the  wit,  the  child  of  genius  and  the 
funny  man;  and  the  moral  would  be  just  the 
same.  In  the  one  case,  a  sense  of  peace,  of  hit- 
ting the  mark,  of  adding  to  our  human  wealth,  of 
reaching  the  true  end  of  man;  in  the  other,  a  cer- 
tain tickling  of  the  sensations,  it  is  true,  but,  with 
it,  dissatisfaction,  unrest,  a  sense  of  vanity,  with 
final  bankruptcy  staring  us  in  the  face.  Self- 
consciousness  is  fatal  to  humor.  It  is  as  dis- 
appointing as  that  habit  certain  people  have, 
whose  sex  and  age  we  shall  not  specify,  of  always 
thinking  of  their  clothes,  or  of  your  clothes,  or 
of  some  one  else's  clothes;  their  society  is  not 
joy  and  gladness,  nor  does  it  bring  us  nearer  to 
the  golden  age. 

It  would  be  with  genuine  joy  of  heart  that  I 
should  record,  if  conscience  allowed  me,  that 
American  life  seems,  on  the  whole,  to  be  flowing 
in  the  direction  which  leads  to  humor  rather  than 
to  wit — the  direction  which  leads  away  from 
tribal  and  personal  vanity,  from  the  lamentable 
longing  to  show  off,  from  self-consciousness  and 
egotism,  toward  the  common  heart  of  man.  But 
this,  at  least,  can  with  certainty  be  said:  that 
only  as  the  great  tide  thus  sets  toward  the  better 
goal;  only  when  the  desire  of  wealth  gives  way 
to  humane  sympathy  and  inherent  power;  when 
the  barriers  of  caste,  so  untimely  and  anomalous 

here,  are  broken  down;  when  the  tribal  vanity  of 

388 


THE  ESSENCE  OF  AMERICAN  HUMOR 

fancied  race  superiority  is  forgotten;  when  self- 
consciousness  and  the  longing  for  stage  proper- 
ties are  left  behind,  merged  in  that  large  urbanity 
which  is  the  essence  at  once  of  real  culture  and 
of  true  breeding — only  then  will  a  real  develop- 
ment of  humor  be  possible.  But  this  humanizing 
of  our  hearts  is  in  itself  not  enough,  though  it  is 
essential  and  not  to  be  replaced:  there  must  also 
be  a  sense  of  power,  of  lightness,  of  success;  a 
surplus  of  magnetism  and  vital  energy,  like  that 
surcharge  of  life  which,  having  molded  root  and 
stem  and  leaves,  bursts  forth  in  beauty  in  the 
flower.  All  this  is  needful,  and  by  no  means 
to  be  dispensed  with;  yet  to  all  this  must 
be  added  something  more,  something  which,  by 
all  our  taking  thought,  we  can  never  gain — that 
superb  fire  of  genius  which  comes  not  with  ob- 
servation, but  is  the  best  gift  and  creative  handi- 
work of  our  everlasting  human  soul. 


THE      END 


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